Cv 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELB9 

MY  FIRST  COUSIN 
OR  MYSELF 


BY 


ANNIE  E.  BARNARD 


1909 

Cochrane  Publishing  Company 

Tribune   Building 

New  York 


Copyright,    1909, 

BY 
COCHRANE  PUBLISHING  Co. 


FOREWORD. 


THIS  will  prove  a  pleasant  and  acceptable  book 
to  those  who  love  to  ponder  over  my  interesting 
and  varied  experience  in  Southern  California. 

The  foremost  and  noblest  character  in  this 
little  book  of  letters  is  that  of  myself ;  therefore, 
I  have  not  the  presumption  to  attempt  to  give 
anything  that  would  bear  the  appearance  of  a 
critical  judgment  on  a  work,  written  by  myself 
to  my  own  First  Cousin. 

Wanted,  a  hand  to  hold  mine  own. 

As  down  life's  vale  I  glide; 
Wanted,   an   arm   to   lean   upon, 

Forever  by  my  side. 

Wanted,  a  firm  and  steady  foot, 

With  step  secure  and  free; 
To  keep  its  straight  and  onward  pace 

Over  life's  path  with  me. 

Wanted,  a  form  erect  and  high, 

A  head  above  mine  own 
So  much,  that  I  might  walk  beneath 

Its  shadow  o'er  me  thrown. 


Foreword 

Wanted,  an  eye  within  whose  depths 

Mine  own  might  look  and  see 
Uprisings   from  a  guileless  heart, 

O'erflown  with  love  for  me. 

Give  me  a  cosy  nook, 

And  a  bubbling  brook, 

And  a  good  book, 

And  the  noise  of  a  distant  city, 

To  make  me  enjoy  my  riches. 

We  often  fancy  that  the  difference  between  a 
born  poet  and  a  born  fool  is  quite  as  slight  as 
the  partition  that  is  said  to  divide  genius  from 
madness.  However,  it  was  a  born  poet  who  pro 
duced  the  above  poetry,  and  it  is  worth  preserv 
ing. 


Los  ANGELES,  January  15,  1907. 

To  my  most  clever  and  gracious  Cousin: 

(back  East). 

My  dearest  Cousin,  Mary  Ann  Josephine 
Kose  Duffy,  a  most  hearty  greeting 
to  you  this  morning: 

In  response  to  your  most  interesting  letter  that 
came  to  hand  some  time  ago,  I  will  write  you  a 
letter  on  the  installment  plan,  I  being  your 
mother's  sister's  child,  I  should  have  "got  busy" 
and  answered  your  letter  before  this  late  date, 
nevertheless,  no  one  has  your  welfare  and  success 
more  at  heart  than  your  Cousin  in  Southern 
California. 

But  as  we  pass  through  life,  jostled  by  the 
pains  that  crowd  into  our  old  bodies,  we  often 
lose  sight  of  those  whom  from  a  long  and  tried 
acquaintance  become  dear  to  us.  We  forget 
them  for  a  while,  when  the  busy  cares  of  life 
press  heavily  upon  us;  but  when  from  weariness 
or  disgust  we  turn  aside  to  some  quiet  nook  or 

5 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

shady  by-path,  their  pleasant  faces  and  kind 
deeds  will  up  like  fresh  fountains  in  memory's 
desert.  Among  such  "pleasant  memories,"  I 
like  to  number  you,  my  dear  Cousin. 

Years  ago,  when  I  plotted  my  daily  round  in 
the  avocation  of  milliner  your  kindness  and 
friendship  was  like  wine  that  could  make  glad 
the  most  desponding  heart.  I  received  your  pict 
ure  also,  and  you  look  so  nice  and  good.  I  am 
very  happy  to  think  that  you  are  a  cousin  of 
mine. 

Thank  you,  my  sweet  cousin,  for  the  good  like 
ness,  and  the  long  letter,  so  full  of  loving  words, 
news  and  affection,  and  so  like  your  own  dear 
self;  it  made  me  recall  very  distinctly  other  days, 
of  frivolities  and  pleasure. 

Long  I  sat  beside  my  window,  lost  in  thought. 
At  first  the  present  occupied  my  mind ;  and  then 
thought  went  far  back  to  school-days,  in  the  old 
dog-town  school-house,  the  little  red  school, 
where  we  spent  mai^  happy  days.  One  thing  we 
can  both  vouch  for — no  one  ever  left  it  with  a 
classical  education. 

Soon  memory  turned  another  leaf  of  her  tab 
let,  and  your  mother  was  before  me  and  through 
the  mist  of  time  came  her  low  words,  giving  us 

6 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

such  good  counsel,  telling  us  that  we  should  al 
ways  walk  in  the  ways  of  wisdom  and  of  truth ; 
and  then  we  would  be  content,  and  blest,  and 
highly  esteemed. 

But  you  know  we  were  too  hilarious  to  listen 
to  her  good  advice.  Youth,  and  beauty,  and 
happiness,  reigned  triumphant.  One  might 
have  thought  that  our  ages  wrere  counted  by 
summers  alone,  and  that  our  bosoms  were  undis 
turbed  by  even  a  foreboding  of  care. 

True  it  is,  the  hand  of  providence,  which 
united  us  in  the  ties  that  connect  true  cousins, 
has  loosened  and  we  are  separated — you  back 
there  in  that  frozen  country,  and  me  out  here 
in  the  land  where  it  is  summer  always,  and  time 
takes  us  rapidly  on.  They  tell  me  that  time  goes 
by  very  quickly  out  here  because  there  are  no 
long  winters,  but  between  you  and  me,  Mary 
Ann  and  this  letter,  I  wish  that  I  could  run  in 
to  see  you  this  minute.  I  am  sure  that  I  would 
cry  and  laugh  by  turns.  I  would  be  so  happy, 
but  I  am  sensible  of  my  unworthiness  of  so  great 
happiness;  my  life,  henceforward,  shall  be  an 
effort  to  deserve  it. 

It  pained  me  very  much  to  hear  that  your 
health  was  not  good  of  late,  but  I,  not  having 

7 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

the  power  to  sympathize  with  the  feelings  of 
the  Invalid,  to  understand  her  wants,  her  pleas 
ure,  and  her  annoyances,  the  full  power  of  thus 
sympathizing  is  only  in  rare  instances  possessed 
by  nature;  it  has  commonly  to  be  acquired  by 
experience;  but  as  there  is  generally  great 
danger  for  the  sick  person,  I  have  a  sincere  de 
sire  to  remind  you  in  this  letter  that  you  have 
a  foster  sister  away  out  in  California,  who  was 
very  devoted  to  you.  I  know  that  it  makes  you 
feel  sad  when  you  think  of  me  being  so  far  away, 
but  as  this  life  is  a  scene  of  mingled  cloud  and 
sunshine,  we  must  smile  with  our  weeping. 
And,  my  dear  cousin,  if  it  is  God's  will  to  take 
you  soon  please  don't  forget  me  in  your  "last 
will  and  testament,"  as  you  know  that  I  was 
always  very  thoughtful  of  you. 

You  have  always  been  so  pure  and  holy  I  am 
sure  you  will  be  happy,  when  the  brief  dark 
struggle  of  life  is  ended;  only  think  of  what  my 
grief,  and  agony  would  be. 

If  I  could  not  have  your  cheerful  letters — to 
help  me  in  this  world's  great  field  of  battle — 
why  I  can  feel  my  frozen  heart  melting  into 
tears,  while  I  write  about  the  possible  passing 
away  of  my  idolized  cousin. 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

January  25. 

You  said  that  you  passed  a  tape-worm  thirty- 
six  inches  long  (but  you  didn't  say  how  wide). 
Why,  Mary  Ann,  you  must  have  swallowed  your 
tape-measure,  sometime  or  other,  and  that  was 
what  you  passed. 

Or  perhaps  it  was  a  surplus  intestine,  surely 
you  could  not  have  a  tape- worm  all  these  years, 
when  you  have  always  been  as  plump  as  a  par 
tridge.  However,  one  can't  pass  very  many  in 
testines  and  live,  therefore,  you  ought  to  have 
your  "will  drawn  up  at  once,"  and  if  you  should 
leave  your  fond  cousin  the  bulk  of  your  property, 
I  will  carry  out  any  promise  that  you  wish,  and 
I  will  have  the  following  lines  inscribed  on  your 
head-stone. 

"My  loss  is  great — I  have  lost  my  cousin, 

And  I  must  live  alone. 

No  tongue  can  tell  the  pain  T  feel — 

No  one  can  brighten  my  home. 

Her  body  has  returned  to  dust, 

Pier  limbs  mold  in  the  ground. 

T  hope  the  Lord  will  her  reward 

With  an  Immortal  crown. 

Smooth  her  hair  and  fix  her  sweetly, 

Let  the  window  curtain  fall, 

For  death  has  taken  my  beloved  cousin, 

And  she  has  answered  the  call." 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

If  you  don't  think  that  the  above  lines  are  ap 
propriate,  let  me  know  if  you  live  to  answer  this 
letter.  When  you  read  them  please  don't  get 
out  your  handkerchief,  and  begin  to  get  senti 
mental  ;  at  least,  just  wait  until  you  are  dead. 

Well  now,  dear  cousin,  for  fear  you  might  die, 
I,  agreeably  to  promise,  will  give  you  a  slight 
account  of  my  adventures.  My  journey  here  was 
very  similar  to  anybody's  journey.  I  was  brow 
beaten  by  conductors,  snobbed  and  laughed  at 
by  waiters,  and  humbugged  by  everybody.  The 
proprietors  of  what  are  called  by  public  courtesy 
eating-houses  along  the  railroads,  are  schemers, 
I  tell  you.  A  gentleman  who  sat  next  to  me  at 
one  stoppage  told  me  that  he  was  willing  to 
make  oath  that  the  turkey  at  the  head  of  the 
table  was  the  identical  one  that  had  occupied 
that  place  when  he  passed  there  a  month  before. 

Indeed,  I  noticed  myself,  that  the  breast  of 
the  unfortunate  turkey  was  pierced  with  a  num 
ber  of  small  holes — caused  by  the  proprietor's 
plunging  a  carving  fork  into  it  with  a  flourish,  as 
if  just  about  to  dissect  it,  as  soon  as  he  heard 
the  first  stroke  of  the  bell  which  drove  us  all 
away  to  our  train.  The  whole  journey  I  paid 
as  much  for  fasting  as  for  feasting.  And  when 

10 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

I  reached  here  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  which 
was  in  the  worse  condition — my  purse  or  my 
stomach.  For  all  those  long  miles  across  the 
continent  my  vis-a-vis  was  a  big  fat  red-faced 
woman,  with  a  turned  up  nose,  and  no  eye-brows 
at  all  worth  speaking  of,  who  held  in  her  arms 
one  of  those  wonderful  articles,  called  poodle- 
dogs. 

Now  I  don't  think  I'm  prejudiced  against 
dogs — they  are  all  very  well  in  their  place — but 
one  giets  disgusted  to  see  a  big  fat  woman  taking 
as  tender  care  of  a  dog  as  she  would  of  her  first 
born.  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
I've  never  had  such  a  weakness — and  never  in 
tend  to  be  guilty  of  such  a  thing.  I  solemnly 
affirm  that  I  never  did,  nor  by  any  possibility 
ever  could,  have  fondled  or  caressed  a  dog,  ?the 
way  that  that  woman  did  that  pup.  And  to 
add  to  my  discomfort,  in  the  section  directly 
across  from  mine,  there  was  a  man,  his  wife  and 
five  children — including  a  parrot.  I  will  not 
undertake  to  say  the  parrot  never  shut  its  mouth 
for  half  a  minute  at  a  time,  for  twenty-four 
hours;  but  I  do  say  that,  if  it  did,  it  was  when 
I  was  out  of  hearing.  While  the  cars  were  in 
motion,  it  kept  up  a  continual  opposition 

11 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

clamor,  seeming  much  surprised  at  finding  itself 
rivaled  in  its  own  peculiar  game,  occasionally 
varying  its  performances  by  a  shriek,  which  I 
have  no  doubt  was  often  taken  by  those  in  the 
other  cars  for  the  whistle  of  the  locomotive. 

When  they  stopped  it  seemed  to  imagine  they 
were  vanquished,  and  celebrated  its  victory  in 
a  succession  of  yells,  in  which  it  poured  forth 
such  a  volume  of  sound  as  would  certainly  have 
carried  away  its  front  teeth — if  it  had  had  any. 
It  seemed  at  home  on  all  parts  of  the  gamut. 
From  lower  G  to  upper  A  ( I  am  not  sure  that  my 
musical  terms  are  quite  correct,  but  you  know 
what  I  mean) — its  voice  was  equally  well  sus 
tained,  powerful  and  discordant. 

To  make  matters  worse,  the  wife  of  the  man 
kept  hoping  the  passengers  were  not  disturbed 
by  the  parrot's  noise,  and  protested  that  he  was 
ordinarily  the  quietest  bird  in  the  world.  May 
be  he  was,  but,  if  so,  the  saying  that  "practice  is 
necessary  to  perfection"  won't  hold  when  ap 
plied  to  parrots.  Polly  couldn't  possibly  have 
made  more  noise  in  the  same  time  if  he  had  been 
practising  all  his  life  for  that  particular  display. 
However,  we  happily  got  rid  of  the  whole  family 
at  Guide  Rock,  Nebraska,  when  they  passed  out 

12 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

of  the  car.  I  threw  myself  back  in  my  seat,  and 
just  said,  "Amen."  The  woman  must  have  over 
heard  me,  for  she  looked  back  at  me,  as  if  she 
thought  my  education  had  been  neglected. 

The  rest  of  the  long  journey  to  California  was 
solemn  enough  on  account  of  washouts  and 
other  mishaps.  We  were  on  the  road  seven 
da3rs.  Our  train  was  stranded  for  one  whole 
day  on  the  boundless  desert,  where  we  saw  the 
sun  rise  as  if  rising  from  the  sands.  We  took 
a  peep  into  one  of  the  numerous  Indian  huts. 
In  rudeness  and  uncivilization  we  found  the 
inmates  bearing  a  striking  resemblance  to  their 
little  huts.  In  one  corner  was  a  roll  of  buffalo- 
skins  which  doubtless  served  for  beds.  The 
floor  was  the  earth  upon  which  the  hut  stood. 
An  old  woman  was  seated  by  the  fireside,  smok 
ing  a  pipe.  Several  large,  swarthy-looking  boys 
were  in  one  corner  repairing  their  bows  and  ar 
rows  for  a  hunt.  In  another  corner  stood  two 
girls  with  mortar  and  pestle,  preparing  to  beat 
conyhanny;  they  were  dressed  in  calico  skirts, 
with  red  jackets  fastened  with  silver  brooches; 
their  feet  were  covered  with  moccasins;  their 
hair  was  plaited  and  hanging  down  their  backs. 

A  whoop  started  the  boys.    They  gathered  up 
13 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

their  bows  and  arrows,  and  some  dried  venison 
and  parched  cornmeal,  and  went  out  where  a 
large  company  of  hunters  were  waiting  for  them. 
Soon  the  desert  seemed  to  be  alive  with  their 
whoops,  yells  and  the  barking  of  dogs,  when  our 
train  started  again  over  the  everlasting  hot 
sands. 

I  was  in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement  to  see 
California.  The  happy  night  arrived  at  last 
when  the  big  overland  train  pulled  into  the 
depot  at  Pasadena.  The  passengers  stood  still 
in  awe.  There  were  ten  coaches  of  them.  The 
sky  was  perfectly  clear,  and  the  moon  was  shin 
ing  away,  pouring  a  flood  of  soft  light  silently 
through  the  quiet  air.  The  moonbeams  rested 
on  acres  of  beautiful  orange  groves  that  stretched 
out  far  away  to  the  mountains.  I  have  many 
fond  memories  of  that  night.  There  will  always 
be  a  sacred  place  in  my  heart  for  it,  because  of 
the  feeling  that  came  over  me.  The  quiet 
beauty  of  the  scene  that  spread  before  me  and 
the  scent  of  the  orange  blossoms  and  flowers 
made  me  think  I  had  landed  in  another  world. 

At  the  depot  there  was  a  neighing  of  horses, 
and  rolling  of  carriages,  and  a  general  hum  of 

14 


My  First  Coiisin,  or  Myself. 

voices,  as  passenger  after  passenger  passed  into 
the  hotel. 

Now  if  there  is  anything  I  dislike  more  than 
a  screeching  parrot  it  is  a  hotel.  So  I  asked  a 
man  with  a  doorplate  on  his  hat,  who  begged 
the  privilege  of  carrying  my  baggage — and 
charged  me  a  dollar  for  obliging  him,  by  the 
way — to  conduct  me  to  a  nice  clean  boarding- 
house.  A  few  rods  down  from  the  depot,  front 
ing  on  Meridian  street,  stood  a  large  wooden 
building,  with  double  verandas  and  low  oaken 
doors.  A  huge  palm  swept  the  roof  with  its 
large  overhanging  leaves,  and  low  down  on  one 
of  its  great  leaves  swung  a  weather-beaten  sign 
on  which  was  printed  in  large  letters  "George- 
ana."  At  this  house  my  escort  stopped  and 
rang  the  bell.  A  very  tall  lady  answered.  She 
had  on  an  old-fashioned  pink  dress  with  four 
flounces,  gradually  decreasing  from  the  bottom 
upward,  which  gave  her  the  appearance  of  a 
half-opened  telescope,  and  impressed  me  with 
a  great  curiosity  to  put  my  hand  on  her  head, 
to  see  if  the  upper  part  of  her  body  wouldn't 
slide  down  into  her  skirts,  where  there  was  cer 
tainly  room  enough. 

She  had  a  peculiar  pinched  sort  of  look,  as 
15 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

though  she  had  formerly  lived  in  a  box,  where 
space  was  an  object,  and  had  accordingly 
squeezed  herself  to  the  slenderest  possible  size. 
She  had  a  wide-awake  appearance,  and  her  mo 
tions  would  lead  you  to  imagine  that  she  went 
by  some  kind  of  clockwork,  which  being  out  of 
order,  only  moved  by  jerks. 

She  straightway  assigned  me  to  a  room  on 
the  second  floor.  It  was  a  pleasant  room,  over 
looking  a  beautiful  garden.  One  window  was 
completely  covered  with  a  rose-vine,  still  red 
with  blossoms,  through  which  the  new  moon  was 
stealing  in,  while  a  soft  wind  stirred  the  flowers, 
until  it  seemed  as  if  the  light  had  half-awakened 
them.  I  sat  crouched  in  the  recess  of  the  oriel 
window  for  at  least  one  hour,  thinking  things.  I 
should  have  been  glad  to  have  sat  there  an  hour 
longer,  dreaming  aimlessly,  perhaps,  but  very 
pleasantly,  of  the  scenes  and  characters  which 
had  taken  so  strong  a  hold  on  my  imagination, 
but  I  was  not  allowred  farther  quiet. 

There  was  a  slamming  of  doors,  a  sound  of 
voices,  for  every  noise  echoed  with  tenfold  force 
through  that  old  house.  I  rose  unwillingly 
enough  and  drew  a  long  breath,  passed  my  hand 
over  my  brow,  smiled  a  sad  smile,  for  home  and 

16 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

for  YOU,  Mary  Ann,  and  for  poor  Edward.  Did 
you  notice  how  his  eyes  filled  with  loving  ad 
miration,  when  he  bade  me  good-bye?  I  sin 
cerely  hope  that  you  can  feel  for  me  and  have 
charity  for  him  while  I  am  away.  A  hundred 
times,  that  evening,  I  stopped  to  listen,  holding 
my  breath,  and  turning  white  with  keen  expecta 
tion.  Some  noise  at  the  door — some  footfall  in 
the  street,  had  arrested  me.  But  the  sound  in 
variably  passed  away,  leaving  me  like  a  statue, 
as  cold  and  almost  as  lifeless.  My  watch  never 
ticked  so  loud  before,  and  I  did  hate  it  for  its 
methodical  tickling,  listening  with  a  double 
sense;  and  with  the  cold  tears  standing  on  my 
cheek,  I  lingered  through  that.  lonesome  even 
ing,  waiting  for  someone  in  vain. 

Late  into  the  night  I  lay  recalling  the  events 
of  the  past.  The  gray  dawn  broke  l>efore  I 
deemed  the  night  had  sp.ent.  Steps  in  the  hall 
roused  me.  I  dressed  quickly  and  went  out  into 
the  grounds.  The  old  house  stood  on  an  emi- 

~ 

nence.  A  winding  drive  sloped  down  the  road, 
and  on  either  side  of  the  dwelling  were  pleasant, 
old-fashioned  gardens.  At  the  back  was  a  sort 
of  lawn  ending  in  three  terraces,  and  beyond 

17 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

the  hill  sloped  gradually  down  through  a  grove 
of  sycamore  and  palm  trees. 

A  little  below,  the  Arroyo  Seco  dashed 
through,  leaving  the  banks  precipitous  and 
broken,  with  sharp  ledges  of  rock  hanging  over 
the  stream.  Looking  up  the  river,  the  rocks 
loomed  higher  and  more  broken,  extending 
across  the  bed  of  the  torrent  and  forming  a 
cascade,  down  which  the  waters  leaped  in  a 
sheet  of  spray,  paused  an  instant  upon  a  broad, 
flat  rock,  covered  with  green  moss  and  ferns, 
then  fell  into  the  channel  beneath,  white  and 
feathery  as  a  rush  of  snow. 

It  was  a  lonely  and  picturesque  spot.  Great 
sycamores  stretched  their  gnarled  trunks  over 
the  waters;  tall  pines  grew  upon  the  very  edge 
of  the  cliffs;  below  the  falls  the  current  was 
broken  by  rocks  that  had  been  flung  down  by 
freshets;  and,  after  the  winter  rains,  the  roar 
of  the  torrent  could  be  heard  at  a  great  dis 
tance. 

I  went  dowrn  to  the  run,  and  clambered  up  the 
rocks  to  the  top  of  the  cascade,  and  seated 
myself  upon  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  sycamore, 
looking  dreamily  into  the  waters  below.  I 
caught  the  flutter  of  a  coat  along  the  footpath 

18 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

that  edged  the  brook,  and  looking  again,  saw 
an  old  gentleman  standing  beneath  me,  watch 
ing  the  leap  of  the  cascade.  My  curiosity  was 
awakened,  and,  you  know,  Mary  Ann,  when  my 
curiosity  is  active  I  soon  get  over  the  blues. 

I  recognized  in  him  the  tall,  dignified  per 
sonage  that  I  saw  standing  in  the  hall  the  even 
ing  before.  I  went  down  to  the  place  where 
he  stood,  but  the  waters  drowned  every  sound, 
so  that  he  did  not  notice  my  approach  until  I 
was  close  beside  him. 

He  started,  gave  me  such  a  sly  look  and  a 
smile  so  beautiful  that,  for  the;  first  time,  a  feel 
ing  of  timidity  came  over  me. 

"  I  thought  myself  the  earliest  riser  in  the 
house,"  I  said,  "  but  I  see  that  you  were  in  ad 
vance  of  me."  He  was  older  than  I  had  thought 
the  night  before.  He  was  quite  aged — three 
score  at  least.  His  countenance  was  wrinkled; 
his  eyes  were  beginning  to  get  dull  with  the 
film  of  years;  his  skin  no  longer  ruddy,  but 
faded  and  time-worn.  Yet  you  could  not  look 
into  his  face  and  at  once  withdraw  your  eyes, 
for  there  was  something  there  that  held  them 
half  entranced.  I  saw  that  a  light  within  was 
shining  through  the  veil  of  flesh. 

19 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

Dear  old  man!  My  heart  went  out  to  him 
at  once,  his  old  beauty  attracted  me  even  more 
than  would  a  young  man's  beauty. 

"Think  of  angels,  and  one  sees  their  wings," 
he  answered.  "  I  was  just  thinking  of  you.  I 
saw  you  come  in  last  night,  and  knew  at  once, 
you  were  a  tenderfoot." 

I  can  not  say  I  was  exactly  pleased  at  being 
called  "  tenderfoot,"  and  I  suppose  I  looked  it, 
for  instantly  his  face  flushed,  as  he  tried  to  ex 
plain.  He  said  he  had  lived  in  California  for 
thirty  years,  and  was  familiar  with  every  part 
of  the  state. 

"  Come  up  this  way,"  he  directed.  "  I  wish 
to  show  you  the  view  from  some  of  those  ter 
races.  It  is  peculiarly  fine." 

While  we  conversed  the  changes  of  his  coun 
tenance  were  a  study.  I  had  never  seen  any 
thing  like  it  in  a  person  of  his  advanced  years. 
I  had  often  heard  the  words  "growing  old  grace 
fully,"  but  never  so  fully  comprehended  their 
meaning  as  now.  There  was  one  who  had  be 
gun  to  grow  old  gracefully  many,  many  years 
before.  Ere  the  first  gray  hair  had  laid  its  al 
most  imperceptible  line  of  silver  among  his  dark 

20 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

brown  tresses,  he  must  have  begun  the  work  of 
growing  old  after  this  better  fashion. 

He  helped  me  up  the  steep  path,  and  we  sat 
down  upon  a  big  flat  stone,  which  was  so  cov 
ered  with  moss  that  it  was  like  a  couch. 

"  You  must  love  this  place,"  I  said,  after  a 
long  silence. 

"  I  never  come  here  without  discovering  some 
beauty  which  never  struck  me  before,"  he  re 
plied.  "Ah,  I  can  understand  that,  people  say 
that  you  grow  so  familiar  with  beauty  as  to  dis 
regard  it,  but  it  never  seemed  true  to  me.  One 
needs  to  become  acquainted  with  a  spot  like  this 
to  take  in  all  its  loveliness." 

There  we  sat  for  a  long  hour,  talking  as  I 
think,  few  strangers  ever  conversed  between 
themselves.  I  told  him  that  I  was  left  all  alone 
in  the  world,  and  came  to  California  to  seek  my 
fortune. 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  "you  have  come  to  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  places  on  earth.  You  see  the 
country  that  lies  between  Pasadena  and  the 
steep  foot  of  the  green  mountains  is  patched  with 
orange  groves  and  beautiful  homes  and  flower 
gardens." 

And  so  we  continued  talking. 
21 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

The  breakfast  bell  had  rung  full  a  half  hour 
before  we  started  back  to  the  house.  As  we 
went  along  I  was  a  few  steps  in  advance.  Being 
very  much  pre-occupied  with  my  thoughts  I  did 
not  observe  that  I  had  dropped  the  "  Lady  of 
the  Decoration,"  which  I  had  taken  along  to 
cheer  me  up,  until  my  companion,  in  a  very 
musical  voice  said : 

"  Miss  Gray,  allow  me  to  return  your  prop 
erty.  You  dropped  this  a  moment  ago." 

I  at  first  looked  wonderingly  up  into  the  dark 
eyes  looking  so  eagerly  down  upon  me,  but  then 
recognized  that,  thanks  to  the  fly-leaf,  whereon 
was  written  the  owner's  name,  and  to  the  find 
er's  presence  of  mind,  that  tempted  him  to 
glance  therein  and  read  it,  he  had  learned  my 
name. 

I  thanked  him,  and  reached  out  my  hand  for 
the  book,  but  awkwardly  dropped  it  again.  We 
both  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  but  he  picked  up 
my  hand  instead  of  the  book,  which  deepened 
the  crimson  in  my  cheeks  into  such  a  rosy  blood 
(hat  it  was  really  painful. 

Of  course,  he  could  tender  but  a  very  lame 
apology  for  such  an  awkward  proceeding,  so  he 
laughingly  bade  me  give  him  the  book  to  carry. 

22 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

At  the  door  I  said,  "  thank  you,"  and  received 
my  book  and  a  card,  on  which  was  engraved 
"George  W.  Shufflebottam."  With  the  rosy 
glow  rushing  up  again,  I  nodded  another  "good- 
day,"  and  flitted  up  to  my  room.  I  looked  in 
the  mirror  to  see  my  red  face,  and  felt  glad  at 
heart  that  I  had  found  a  friend  in  a  strange 
land. 


June  16,  1907. 

Five  months  have  passed  away,  Mary  Ann; 
since  I  started  to  write  this  letter.  And  I  am 
happy,  very  happy.  More  so  than  I  ever  de 
served.  I  am  living  in  Los  Angeles  now,  have 
been  here  two  weeks.  Am  domiciled  in  a  large, 
pleasant  room  at  324  W.  17th  street.  There  is 
something  very  picturesque  about  this  old 
apartment  house.  It  stands  a  little  back  from 
the  street.  In  the  yard  there's  the  grandest  lot 
of  flowers  I  have  ever  seen,  and  on  either  side 
of  the  front  door  there  are  beds  of  massive  ferns. 
And  there  are  two  orange-trees  that  stand  all  the 
time  just  under  my  window. 

Positively,  I  half  live  on  the  scent  of  flowers 
23 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

and  orange-blossoms;  no  perfume  so  delicious 
as  those  same  creamy  orange-blossoms  and  the 
budding  roses.  Los  Angeles  is  certainly  a  de 
lightful  place.  It  appears  the  whole  world  is 
here.  Well,  now  I  must  go  and  dress.  "Within 
an  inch  of  my  life,"  as  my  sweet  old  suitor  calls 
on  me  with  clocklike  regularity. 

He  is  so  nice  and  straightforward  I  so  like  his 
frankness  and  warm  friendship,  which  I  sin 
cerely  hope  will  never  grow  cold.  You  know, 
Mary  Ann,  there  is  no  one  quality  that  so  much 
endears  a  man  to  me  as  cheerfulness.  Talents 
may  excite  more  respect,  and  virtues  more  es 
teem,  but  the  respect  is  apt  to  be  distant  and  the 
esteem  cold. 

But  it  is  otherwise  with  cheerfulness.  It  en 
dears  a  man  to  my  heart. 

Yes,  my  heart  goes  out  with  big  bounds  to 
such  a  man.  I  will  tell  you  a  secret,  if  you  will 
promise  not  to  tell  a  living  soul.  Here  it  goes. 
I  have  fully  decided — I  love  Mr.  Shufflebottam, 
and  if  he  pops  the  question,  I  will  accept  with 
out  any  delay.  Who  would  have  thought  that  so 
warm  an  acquaintance  could  have  been  formed 
in  so  short  a  time?  Never  could  two  light 
headed,  careless-hearted  children  trip  through 

24 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

their  summer  holidays  more  merrily  than  did 
Mr.  Shufliebottani  and  I  those  last  few  months. 
We  explored  the  wild  woods  in  the  mountains, 
and  tracked  the  windings  of  the  tiny  brooks. 

We  have  been  constant  companions,  we  have 
spent  days  at  the  seashore;  we  have  fished  to 
gether,  and  gathered  pebbles  and  shells  on  the 
sand.  We  spent  the  entire  day  yesterday  at 
Ocean  Park.  Expect  to  go  to  Santa  Monica 
this  P.  M.  Must  dress  now.  Will  write  more 
in  the  morning. 


June  17,  1907. 

Well,  Mary  Ann,  I  had  a  delightful  time  yester 
day.  Surely  there  is  no  other  place  in  the  whole 
world  more  adapted  for  lovers  than  Southern 
California.  With  her  blue  sky,  softened  with 
delicate  dreamy  tints,  and  the  flaming  miras 
bright  with  golden  poppy  cups,  and  orange 
groves  rich  in  luscious  fruits  and  similar  pro 
ducts  of  the  sun  and  the  soil,  are  not  all  these 
lands  of  invigorating  air  and  blue  skies  have  to 
boast  of.  Men  grow  stronger,  women  fairer 
under  these  favoring  influences  than  elsewhere. 

25 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

Figs,  honey  and  wine  were  not  the  things  that 
made  Athens  famous.  The  old  poetic  moun 
tains  of  Greece  breathed  inspiration  from  their 
ever-changing  peaks.  The  myriad  smiles  of  the 
blue  Aegean  not  only  made  the  fig-trees  bear 
abundantly,  but  they  also  compelled  Homer  to 
write  his  solemn  spondees  and  Sappho  to  sing  in 
her  light  trochees  the  passion  of  the  heart. 

The  roses  still  bloom  on  the  walls  down  south 
of  Naples,  but  we  know  more  of  Italy  when  Vir 
gil  and  Horace  sang.  When  Cicero  and  Tacitus 
wrote,  the  verses  of  the  poets,  the  fiery  oratory 
of  the  declaimers,  the  picturesque  phrase  of 
Livy — all  reflect  the  golden  summer  days  of 
Italy.  But,  Mary  Ann,  what  Greece  and  Italy 
were  to  the  ancients  and  medieval  periods  of 
history,  California  will  be  to  the  Twentieth 
Century  and  to  America.  There  is  no  other 
city  that  can  compare  with  Los  Angeles.  No 
other  country  with  such  a  capitol  and  such  beau 
tiful  sister  cities.  No  other  urban  and  interur- 
ban  car-lines  that  handle  crowds  so  r,vell.  No 
other  place  with  snow-capped  mountains  and 
eternal  summer  seas  within  an  hour  of  each 
other,  and  a  Los  Angeles  between!  No  sum 
mer  and  winter  climate  half  so  comfortable. 

26 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

The  climate  here  is  truly  the  greatest  asset,  and 
the  summer,  they  tell  me,  will  in  years  to  come 
attract  even  more  than  the  winters. 

Comparatively  few  people  are  honestly  ac 
quainted  with  the  summer  climate.  I  have  been 
more  comfortable  here  than  I  have  been  ever  be 
fore  ;  there  is  no  murky,  sticky,  make-you-sick-at- 
your-stomach  heat  during  an}7  day  or  night. 
The  sunshine  is  warm,  but  never  excessively  or 
distressingly  hot.  The  shade  is  always  cool ;  the 
nights  are  always  delightful.  One  can  sleep 
every  night  under  coverlid  or  blanket.  There 
are  comfortable  theaters  always  open,  and  the 
very  finest  shopping  places  for  women.  Hotels 
and  restaurants  are  in  abundance.  I  don't  know 
of  any  summer  resort  anywhere  else  in  which 
one  can  be  so  genuinely  comfortable?  My  sum 
mer  experiences  during  these  few  months  in  Los 
Angeles  have  made  me  feel  younger  and  happier 
than  I  have  ever  been  before. 

No  city  of  the  West  suggests  such  picturesque 
opportunities  and  sight-seeing  possibilities  as 
Los  Angeles.  Telling  of  the  past,  a  time  of  mis 
sions  and  siestas  and  a  future  of  activity  and 
metropolitan  advancement.  Surely  nature  has 
been  very  kind  to  southern  California  in  the  way 

27 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

of  climate,  and  as  a  consequence  the  winters  are 
mild  and  sunny  and  the  summers  pleasant,  the 
ocean  breezes  cooling  the  summer  climate  sun 
shine  to  a  pleasant  temperature.  I  am  sure  it 
is  a  pleasant  place  to  live  in  the  year  round. 
And  if  I  change  my  name  to  Mrs.  Shufflebottam, 
I  will  be  perfectly  contented  to  remain  here  the 
rest  of  my  natural  life.  We  are  going  to  see  the 
famous  Island  resort,  Oatalina  to-morrow.  Will 
write  you  all  about  my  trip  when  I  get  back. 


August  10,  1907. 

Oh,  Mary  Ann,  I  had  just  a  grand  good  time 
on  the  island.  The  fragrant  pepper  and  eu 
calyptus  trees,  the  beautiful  palms  and  subtropi 
cal  flowering  pleats,  the  many  cozy  nooks  about 
the  shores — all  seemed  to  beckon  with  a  dreamy, 
inviting  restfulness.  The  bathers  had  retired 

O 

from  the  beach,  the  links  were  deserted  of  golf 
ers,  and  out  in  the  harbor  the  boats  at  anchor 
were  rocking  idly  with)  the  gentle  undulation  of 
the  traverse  swells,  when  Mr.  Shufflebottam  and 
I  started  for  Los  Angeles. 

Strange  as  it  may  appear,  not  a  word  was 
said  by  either  one  of  us  of  love.  That  is  so  much 

28 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

talked  of  and  yet  so  little  understood.  There 
were  none  of  those  fond  imaginings  of  future 
bliss  so  common  with  all  lovers,  no  low,  tenderly 
whispered  words,  no  soft  hand-pressures.  In 
short,  nothing  of  that  out-gushing  affection 
which  makes  the  hours  of  courtship  the  most 
blissful  of  existence. 

I  thought  that  he  would  have  said  something 
in  such  a  cozy  place,  as  Catalina  Island.  But 
not  one  word  of  love.  I  was  ready  to  accept  him 
and  marry  him  at  once.  But  he  is  a  peculiar 
old  fogy.  He  seems  to  think  that  we  under 
stand  each  other,  and  that  there  is  no  need  of  a 
regular  engagement. 

He  has  asked  me  to  accompany  him  to  Moun 
tain  View  next  week.  Mountain  View  is  in  the 
heart  of  the  Sierra  Madre  mountains,  on  the 
south  bank  of  the  picturesque  San  Gabriel  river, 
twelve  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  river,  fifteen 
miles  from  a  railroad  station.  The  mountain- 
view  resort  is  a  large  tract  of  level  land  amidst 
the  high  peaks,  where  giant  mountains  arise  to 
great  heights  in  any  direction  you  may  look. 
On  the  north  side  the  swiftly  rushing  San 
Gabriel  river,  winding  its  way  through  thick 
timber-pine,  sycamore,  cottonwood,  alder  and 

29 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

oak,  with  which  Mountain  View  was  thickly 
planted  by  nature  hundreds  of  years  ago,  mak 
ing  it  a  perfect  forest ;  many  of  these  trees  have 
reached  a  magnificent  size,  thus  giving  abun 
dances  of  shade. 

Who  knows  what  will  happen  in  the  moun 
tains,  where  pure  air,  clear  water  and  natural 
charms  fill  every  hour  with  a  wholesome  enjoy 
ment;  where  giant  mountains  reach  into  the 
sky;  where  streams  fight  their  way  over  rocks 
and  boulders;  where  mysterious  canyons,  tan 
gled  forests,  caves  and  nature's  strangest  sights 
are  combined  with  California's  mellowest  cli 
mate.  Perhaps  all  this  will  have  a  soothing 
effect  on  Mr.  Shufflebottam,  and  we  will  be 
spliced  by  some  good  minister  in  the  mountains. 
Without  any  fuss,  he  said  that  he  has  something 
to  tell  me  when  we  take  our  trip  to  the  moun 
tains,  I  can  almost  guess  what  it  is.  A  little 
love-tale,  of  course.  Get  ready  for  rejoicing, 
Mary  Ann.  I  rejoice  about  everything,  but  the 
name,  after  we  are  married!  I  will  persuade 
him  to  change  his  name  to  Mr.  Shuffle,  it  is 
shorter  you  know.  For  our  honeymoon  trip  we 
will  go  east,  Mary  Ann,  and  see  all  the  loved 
ones  at  home. 

30 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

Think  of  your  cousin  being  married  to  such  a 
distinguished,  lofty,  aristocrat.  I  know  you  will 
call  me  a  fortune-hunter,  a  flirt,  or  something  of 
that  kind.  When  we  return  to  California  you 
must  come  back  with  us  and  with  your  talent, 
taste  and  beauty,  you  may  catch  as  nice  a  sweet 
heart  as  I  have  without  either  of  the  accomplish 
ments. 

I  don't  know  why,  but  I  feel  very  nervous  to 
night,  and  may  have  written  things  to  you  that 
I  should  not,  "you,  who  are  so  much  like  the 
pious  little  flower  that  we  see  in  the  spring  of 
the  year — low  and  humble  on  the  ground,  open 
ing  its  bosom  to  receive  the  pleasant  beams  of 
the  sun's  glory,  rejoicing  as  it  were,  in  a  calm 
of  rapture,  diffusing  around  a  sweet  fragrance, 
standing  peacefully  and  lowly  in  the  midst  of 
other  flowers." 

There,  now,  always  remember  that  your 
Cousin  Annie  feels  much  pleasure  in  rendering 
any  assistance  to  you  in  helping  you  to  find  a 
good  husband. 

Well,  midnight  is  brooding  and  I  must  retire 
to  rest,  therefore,  I  will  say  Adieu  until  I  get 
back  from  the  mountains. 


31 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

September  1,  1907. 

Lost,  Lost,  Lost ! 
A  beautiful  heart  is  Lost! 
A  beautiful  heart  went  down,  down — 

Down  like  a  ship  at  sea ! 

Who  knows  if  a  heart  be  Lost? 

Poor,  weak  human  nature;  Mary  Ann,  do  you 
know  wThat  the  something  was,  that  old  sour 
fool  had  to  tell  me  when  we  took  the  trip  in  the 
mountains?  Well  3*011  can  never  guess,  so  I 
will  out  with  it. 

He  had  a  wife  and  family  all  this  time,  who 
were  visiting  in  the  east!  He  expects  them  to 
return  to  Los  Angeles  next  week,  and  he  must 
go  out  to  the  house  and  get  it  ready  for  them; 
therefore,  he  can't  see  me  any  more.  He  said 
that  I  had  been  very  good  company,  and  if  he 
hadn't  met  me  he  would  have  been  very  lone 
some  while  his  family  was  away.  He  also 
thanked  me  kindly  for  any  company.  Now,  what 
do  vou  think  of  that? 


32 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

October  3,  1907. 

"Scared  at  thy  frown  terrific  fly, 
Self-pleasing  folly's  idle  brood, 
Wild  laughter,  noise  and  thoughtless  joy, 
And  leave  us  leisure  to  be  good : 
Light  they  disperse :  and  with  them  go 
The  summer  friend,  the  flatt'ring  foe." 

— Gray's  Ode  to  Adversity. 

When  he  ceased  thanking  me,  the  nightmare 
spell,  which  had  bound  me  in  a  thrall  of  silence, 
was  broken.  I  chokingly  replied,  "You  are 
very  welcome,  Mr.  Shufflebottam,  but  I  will  take 
this  leson  to  heart,  and  I  will  know  if  a  fogyish 
old  man,  has  a  family  anywhere  on  earth,  be 
fore  I  go  gadding  about  with  him  so  many 
months  again. 

He  tried  to  stammer  out  something  in  reply, 
but  I  rudely  left  him  standing  in  the  hall,  and 
went  at  once  to  my  room,  and,  having  carefully 
closed  the  door,  threw  myself  upon  the  lounge 
to  recover,  in  a  measure,  my  scattered  senses. 
Had  I  been  in  a  dream?  Could  it  be  that  he 
whom  I  so  loved  could  be  lost  forever?  Hours 
passed  by  unobserved  by  me.  At  length  I  rose, 
stronger  in  spirit.  T  had  made  up  my  mind  to 
go  to  Santa  Ana,  for  a  few  days  and  by  my  re 
turn  he  might  be  gone  from  324  West  17th 
Street,  the  apartment  house,  and  thus  I  would 

33 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

escape  the  pain  of  meeting  him.  For  painful 
I  felt  it  would  be.  Notwithstanding  the  dis 
closure  of  the  last  day,  he  was  so  intimately,  so 
humiliatingly  connected  with  the  past  few 
months  that  I  wished  in  every  way,  if  possible, 
to  avoid  him. 

I  will  forget  all  happy  memories  of  the  past. 
Regret  will  soon  be  over.  And  yet  the  feeling 
is  so  new,  the  awful  revelation  too  sudden,  for 
me  to  be  yet  accustomed  to  it,  and  with  an  in 
ward  prayer  for  strength  and  fortitude  I  begun 
to  pack  a  few  things  and  drowned,  in  the  per 
formance  of  my  duties,  my  sorrow. 

"Fool !"  I  kept  mutering  to  myself.  I  thought 
I  knew  men  too  well  to  be  so  mistaken ;  and, 
after  all,  what  could  I  have  gained,  even  if  he 
had  no  wife?  I  would  be  sacrificing  myself  to 
one  almost  inhuman  in  his  heartlessness.  He 
will  die  in  a  few  years  at  the  very  most  anyway. 
How  under  the  sun  could  I  ever  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  live  with  his  wrinkles  is  more  than 
I  can  understand. 

But  what  won  my  love,  he  retained  all  the  ac 
complishments  of  early  and  middle  life.  In 
company,  his  graceful  attention  to  ladies  was  in 
marked  contrast  with  the  awkward  restraints, 

34 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

cold  reserve,  or  almost  offensive  indifference  so 
often  witnessed  in  those  who  are  advanced  in 
years.  His  mind  was  active  and  progressive, 
and  though  old  in  years,  he  was  young  in  thought 
and  feeling.  With  young  ladies  he  was  neither 
critical  nor  cynical.  The  new  aspects  of  fashion 
never  disturbed  him ;  although  he  had  not  changed 
his  own  style  of  dress  for  more  than  twenty  years. 
How  gayly,  and  with  what  fond  familiarity, 
would  the  sweet  maidens  and  old  widows  gather 
around  the  old  man  in  every  company  where  we 
appeared.  They  felt  no  restraint,  no  repulsion, 
but  were  drawn  to  him  by  an  attraction  of 
affinity. 

But  I  am  behind  the  age,  Mary  Ann,  I  confess 
it.  I  am  behind  the  age — far  behind,  the  world 
goes  too  fast  for  me.  At  the  beginning  of  rny 
love  affair  I  strove  to  keep  up  with  it ;  but  the 
fast  ideas  of  old  men,  here  in  the  West,  bewilder 
me,  and  I  am  weary — and  will  sit  down  by  the 
roadside  to  rest,  I  shall  never  recover  the  ground 
thus  lost.  Never!  I  feel  like  an  old  stage-coach 
distanced  by  automobiles.  I  give  up  the  race 
and  sit  me  down  among  the  antiquities. 

Yet  I  am  not  old  in  years — that  is,  not  very 
old.  I  am  not  a  broiler,  but  I  am  not  ashamed 

35 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

of  the  record  in  the  family  Bible.  I  can  behold 
it  without  feeling  a  savage  inclination  for  paste 
or  scissors. 

I  can  bear  allusions  to  dates  without  wincing, 
still  climbing  the  hill  with  a  light  foot  and  a 
young  heart.  I  have  not  reached  my  inheritance 
of  wrinkles  and  crow's  feet,  and  gray  hairs,  nor 
do  I  eschew  crusts  and  biscuits. 

Albeit,  I  acknowledge  to  slight  twinges  of  the 
rheumatism,  I  think  that  I  must  have  been  old 
when  I  was  born.  I  cling  so  to  old  notions  and 
old  things,  like  a  misdirected  letter.  I  did  not 
reach  my  destination  in  time.  I  should  have 
been  delivered  in  the  days  of  my  grandmother. 

I  am  sure  you  will  think,  I  am  losing  my  mind, 
if  I  ever  had  any.  But  such  a  conviction  has 
forced  itself  upon  me,  since  I  was  foolish 
enough  to  fall  head,  neck  and  heels  in  love 
with  such  an  old  codger,  who  has  a  family  of  his 
own,  and  who  is  just  toddling  along  the  highway 
of  life  with  the  railroad  trains  whizzing  past  him. 

Hereafter  I  will  try  to  avoid  connecting  my 
self  with  characters  whose  good  and  bad  sides 
are  unmixed,  and  have  not  fermented  together. 
They  resemble  phials  of  vinegar  and  oil,  or  pal 
lets  set  with  colors.  They  are  either  excellent 

36 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

at  home  and  intolerable  abroad,  or  insufferable 
within  doors  and  excellent  in  public.  They  are 
unfit  for  friendship,  let  alone  love,  merely  be 
cause  their  stamina,  their  ingredients  of  char 
acter,  are  too  single,  too  much  apart.  Let  them 
be  finely  ground  up  with  each  other,  and  they 
will  be  incompatible. 

I  am  in  such  a  flutter  that  I  scarcely  know 
what  I  am  writing.  I  must  leave  for  Santa  Ana 
in  about  one  hour.  I  will  return  in  a  few  days. 
You  can  address  a  letter  to  me. 

"To  the  city  of  our  Lady,  the  queen  of  the 
Angels,"  or,  "the  Eternal  city." — 
"The  city  of  the  gods."— 
"The  city  of  flowers  and  sunshine." — 
If  you  address  your  letter  to  either  one  of  the 
above  names,  it  will  reach  me  all  right;  but  of 
course   the   most   prominent  among  the  distin 
guished  names  identified  with  the  history  of  this 
place  is  that  of  Los  Angeles. 

Farewell — my  lovely,  pure  innocent,  ingeni 
ous,  unsuspecting,  sweet  little  human  flower  of  a 
cousin.  Write  soon. 

I  remain,  dearest,  yours  in  a  perfect  fever 
of  excitement, 

ANNIE  GRAY. 
37 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

November  5,  1907. 

WALNUT  LAWN,  SANTA  ANA, 

CALIFORNIA. 

My  Dear   Beloved   Cousin: 

You  can  be  cruel  as  well  as  tender,  or  you 
would  have  answered  my  letter.  I  have  risen 
earlier  than  usual,  to-day,  to  number,  in  the  si 
lence  and  solitude  of  my  own  little  dressing- 
room,  some  of  the  happiest  and  some  of  the  most 
mournful  events  of  the  life  partially  chronicled 
in  this  letter. 

My  patience,  love  and  friendship  are  alike 
outraged  by  you  and  everybody  else.  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  I  am  bewildered.  Every 
thing  has  gone  wrong  lately.  I  have  passed 
through  a  fearful  night,  and  there  is  no  strength 
left  in  me.  You  know  there  never  was  any  mus 
cle  in  me,  no  reserved  power,  no' elastic  property; 
but  I  don't  think  that  I  will  pine  to  death. 

I  have  often  heard  that  a  good  cure  for  lost 
love  is  to  love  again.  I  feel  a  little  solitary  and 
sad  to-day,  and  must  tell  you  why  I  did  not  re 
turn  to  Los  Angeles.  I  have  been  off  into  the 
country,  rusticating.  Santa  Ana  is  one  of  the 

38 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

prettiest  aiid  quietest  towns  in  southern  Califor 
nia,  romantically  situated  a  short  distance  from 
the  blue  ocean.  Whoever  pursues  the  route 
leading  from  Santa  Ana  to  the  ocean,  must  have 
been  struck  with  the  rural  landscape.  The  trees 
which  extend  on  each  side  of  the  road  opens  at 
each  instant  to  reveal  long  vistas,  in  which  the 
eye  loses  itself  in  the  horizon,  or  broad  clearings, 
covered  with  orchards  and  ripe  grain.  Here 
and  there,  on  gently  sloping  hills,  rise  elegant 
county  houses,  with  gilded  railings  and  half- 
closed  blinds,  which  seem  to  float  amid  this 
ocean  of  verdure  like  flower-boats  on  the  great 
rivers  of  China. 

One  of  these  especially,  built  at  the  right  of 
the  road,  in  a  small  country  town  called  Fair- 
view,  was  conspicuous  for  the  extent  of  its  out 
houses — and  its  air  of  almost  baronial  grandeur. 

In  all  truth  and  poetry  it  should  be  called, 
Notch  House.  It  was  less  a  villa  than  a  mod 
ern  castle,  having,  instead  of  moats,  a  fish-pond; 
for  towers,  aviaries;  and  for  a  court  of  arms, 
an  orchard  adjoining  a  meadow  of  alfalfa. 

There  is  something  very  peculiar  about  a  Cali 
fornia  summer.  The  thermometer  never  rises 
as  high  as  it  does  in  the  East,  and  each  day,  as 

39 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

it  comes,  seems  a  very  endurable  one.  But  it 
is  in  this  long  continuance  that  the  true  secret 
of  its  power  lies.  With  terrible  patience  the  sun 
girds  himself,  day  after  day,  and  week  after 
week,  to  run  the  same  race.  With  an  eye  at 
once  bright  and  pitiless  he  looks  down  on  those 
who  have  crept  too  near  the  throne  of  his  power, 
and  while  for  the  less  adventurous  ones,  he  has 
rays  of  relenting,  when  he  veils  his  face  with  soft 
clouds,  or  lets  his  beams  fall  on  them  sparkling 
through  the  light  rain  upon  them,  the  audacious 
intruders,  from  April  till  September,  he  turns 
one  burning  gaze  unflinching  and  unbroken. 

In  fact,  the  California  summer  is  one  long 
month  of  May — May  as  it  used  to  be  in  former 
days,  such  as  old  writers  describe  with  loving 
words  and  jocund  phrases,  and  of  which  poets 
of  our  own  time  draw  pictures,  in  verses  rich 
with  eloquence  and  imagery.  Of  course,  Mary 
Ann,  you  know  that  I  never  could  write  poetry, 
but  I  do  think  that  the  California  climate  has 
made  me  a  dreamer.  Here  are  a  few  lines  I 
wrote  in  my  little  room,  in  the  country  inn  where 
I  am  boarding. 

40 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

"  "Tis  eve,  and  a  shadowy  stillness 

Steals  silently  o'er  my  soul, 
And  the  murmurs  of  distant  music 

In  rippling  accents  roll 
O'er  my  spirits  light  and  joyous; 

And  dreamy  visions  glide 
Adown  my  soul's  clear  pathway, 

Like  a  bark  upon  the  tide." 

Now,  do  you  think  that  I  will  ever  gain  any 
fame  writing  poetry.  Fame,  you  know  is  the 
best  and  purest  drop  in  the  cup  of  intellectual 
ambition.  It  is  enjoyed,  thank  God,  by  thou 
sands,  who  soon  learn  to  estimate  their  own 
capabilities  aright,  and  tranquilly  submit  to  the 
obscure  and  transitory  condition  of  their  exis 
tence.  It  is  felt  by  many  who  look  back  on  it 
in  after  years  with,  a  smiling  pity  to  think  they 
were  so  deceived,  but  who  nevertheless  recog 
nize  in  that  aspiration  the  spring  of  their  future 
energies  and  usefulness  in  some  other  and  far 
different  fields  of  action ;  and  the  few  in  whom 
the  prophecy  is  accomplished,  who  become  what 
they  have  believed,  will  often  turn  away,  with 
uneasy  satiety,  from  present  satisfaction  to  the 
memory  of  those  happy  hopes  to  the  thought 
of  the  dear  delight  they  then  derived  from  one 
single  leaf  of  those  laurels  that  now  crowd  in  at 

41 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

the  window,  and  which  the  hand  is  half-inclined 
to  push  away  to  let  in  the  fresh  air  of  heaven. 


November  10,  1907. 

Mary  Ann,  you  know  I  always  flattered  my 
self  that  I  had  common  sense.  Even  you  used  to 
admit  that  I  knew  enough  to  retire  into  the 
house  when  it  rained.  But  now,  don't  be  dis 
gusted  with  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  spent 
the  last  cent  of  my  little  fortune.  You,  young, 
pretty,  talented,  and  with  a  large  fortune,  must 
have  patience  with  me.  I  will  be  frank  and  tell 
you  exactly  what  I  have  done.  Somehow  or 
other,  a  Los  Angeles  real  estate  man  found  out 
that  I  was  in  love  with  this  part  of  the  country, 
and  that  I  had  a  little  money  and  no  brains.  So 
he  kept  right  on  coming  down  here  in  a  big  auto 
mobile,  and  taking  me  out  riding  all  over  the 
country.  He  was  such  a  charming  talker,  he 
never  stopped  until  he  got  me  to  buy  a  little  cot 
tage  and  ten  acres  of  land,  five  miles  from  Santa 
Ana,  in  that  beautiful  little  place  called  Fair 
View.  I  know  not  how  it  was  with  me  when  my 
eyes  went  over  the  place  on  entering;  in  alight- 

42 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

ing,  and  even  before  entering,  when  we  slowly 
crossed  the  bridge,  where  I  first  saw  the  little 
white  cottage  reposing  amid  graceful  trees, 
shrubs  and  verandas,  where  I  saw  how  lovely 
the  stream  was,  how  lovely  the  shady  hill  on 
which  the  domain  lay;  but  it,  was  as  if  a  loving 
spirit  came  out  from  all  the  place,  meeting 
my  spirit,  my  seeking,  striving,  wearied  spirit, 
and  said  to  it,  "come  and  rest."  We  often  did 
sit  and  rest  on  the  veranda  for  hours. 

You  see,  when  a  California  real  estate  man 
finds  out  that  one  has  a  little  money,  they  never 
stop  until  they  have  sold  you  a  foot  of  land 
somewhere,  but  now  I  have  bought  the  place,  the 
little  home  is  mine,  and  I  told  the  real  estate 
man  that  my  money  was  all  gone.  Still,  I  de 
clare  he  comes  and  takes  me  out  riding  just  the 
same.  We  are  on  the  go  the  wrhole  time.  It  is 
nothing  but  auto-riding,  promenades,  operas,  and 
so  forth.  He  is  a  handsome  looking  man.  His 
name  is  George  Schneppenhein,  and  he  is  just 
as  jolly  as  he  can  be.  I  do  enjoy  his  company 
so  much  I  am  charmed.  I  think  a  great  deal 
more  of  Mr.  Schneppenhein  than  of  the  opera; 
his  genius  and  achievements  have  attracted,  in  a 
remarkable  degree,  the  admiration  of  all  the 

43 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

boarders,  and  of  myself  in  particular.  He  is 
one  of  those  rare  individuals  who,  regarding 
nothing  impossible,  does  himself  render  the  pos 
sible  actual  in  spheres  never  before  explored  by 
human  footsteps;  who,  to  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  the  laws  of  nature  and  real  estate,  unite  a 
force  and  energy  of  character  which  enables  him 
to  carry  out  the  most  difficult  sale.  He  sells  the 
earth  between  here  and  Los  Angeles,  fie  is 
here  at  this  little  inn,  two  or  three  days  of  every 
week  and  I  feel  like  crying,  every  time  he  goes 
away. 


December  1,  1907. 

This  morning  we  drove  out  through  liquid 
sunshine.  It  was  a  typical  Santa  Ana  morning. 
The  rain  falls  through  the  brilliant  sunlight  in 
the  most  wonderful  way,  no  one  thinks  of  carry 
ing  an  umbrella,  or  even  a  parasol  to  protect 
them  from  the  mist,  as  the  bright  sunshine  dries 
it  almost  while  it  is  falling.  The  sweet-scented 
blossoms  of  the  orange  trees  and  the  delicate 
green  of  the  just  opened  foliage  were  rippled  by 
the  low  west  wind  that  was  stirring  among  the 

44 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

tree-tops,  burdened  by  its  freight  of  perfume 
stolen  from  the  orange-trees,  the  new-mown  hay, 
and  the  clustering  roses — crimson,  white,  and 
blush-tinted — that  clung  around  every  country 
home,  nodded  in  at  the  windows,  or  disputed 
the  outstanding  trellises  with  honeysuckle,  cle 
matis,  or  hardy  grapevines — a  wealth,  a  mass 
of  blossoms,  and  tendrils,  and  emerald  leaves. 

Mary  Ann,  one  can  almost  live  on  the  scent 
of  the  orange  blossoms,  roses,  and  love,  I  believe 
that.  That  is  what  I  will  have  to  do  if  I  don't 
get  something  to  do  soon.  I  am  looking  around 
for  work. 

You  know  that  poverty  is  the  nurse  of  manly 
energy  and  heaven-climbing  thoughts,  attended 
by  love,  and  faith,  and  hope,  around  whose  steps 
the  mountain  breezes  blow,  and  from  whose 
countenance  all  the  virtues  gather  strength. 
Look  around  you  upon  the  distinguished  men 
that  in  every  department  of  life  guide  and  con 
trol  the  times,  and  inquire  what  was  their  origin 
and  what  was  their  early  fortune.  Were  they, 
as  a  general  rule,  rocked  and  dandled  in  the 
lap  of  wealth?  No;  such  men  emerged  from  the 
homes  of  decent  competence  or  struggling  pov 
erty.  Necessity  sharpens  their  faculties;  and 

45 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

privation  and  sacrifice  brace  their  moral  nature. 
They  learn  the  great  art  of  renunciation,  and 
enjoy  the  happiness  of  having  few  wants;  they 
know  nothing  of  indifference  or  satiety.  There 
is  not  an  idle  fibre  in  their  frames;  they  put  the 
vigor  of  a  resolute  purpose  into  every  act,  the 
edge  of  their  mind  is  always  kept  sharp.  In  the 
school  of  life,  men  like  these  meet  the  softly 
nurtured  darlings  of  prosperity  as  iron  meets 
the  vessel  of  porcelain. 

Now  I  hope  that  I  have  made  it  clear  to  you 
that  it  will  be  no  disgrace  for  me  to  work.  I 
have  rented  my  little  ranch,  it  brings  me  in  about 
thirty  dollars  a  month  but  that  is  not  enough 
for  me  to  get  along  with.  I  am  trying  to  get  to 
teach  a  country  school.  Indeed  it  takes  a  whole 
lot  of  courage,  when  one  don't  know  anything 
about  Latin  or  Greek. 

But  I  fancy  it  will  be  unnecessary  to  know 
either  of  those  ancient  languages.  I  will  look  for 
fame  in  something  easy,  although  this  foretaste 
of  fame  is  in  my  case  delusion  ( as  the  fame  itself 
is  a  greater  delusion  still). 


46 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

January  27r  1908. 

Hoping  ever,  failing  never — 

Though  deceived,  believing  still — 
Long  abiding,  all  confiding 

To  thy  heavenly  Father's  will. 
Meek  and  lowly,  pure  and  holy, 

Chief  among  the  blessed  three — 
Turning  sadness  into  gladness, 

Heaven-born  art  thou,  Charity!" 

I  will  begin  this  morning  by  telling  you  how 
to  be  happy,  I  will  give  you  two  or  three  good 
rules  which  may  help  you  to  become  happier 
than  you  would  be  without  knowing  them;  but, 
as  to  being  completely  happy,  that  can  never  be 
till  you  get  to  heaven  (if  you  ever  get  there). 

The  first  is:  Try  your  best  to  make  others 
happy.  "I  never  was  happy,"  said  a  certain  king, 
"till  I  began  to  take  pleasure  in  the  welfare  of 
my  people;  but  ever  since  then,  in  the  darkest 
day,  I  have  had  sunshine  in  my  heart.'" 

My  second  rule:  Be  content  with  little. 
There  are  many  good  reasons  for  this  rule.  We 
deserve  but  little,  we  require  but  little;  and  "bet 
ter  is  little,  with  the  fear  of  God,  than  great 
treasures  and  trouble  therewith." 

Two  men  were  determined  to  be  rich,  but  they 
set  about  it  in  different  ways.  The  one  strove 
to  raise  up  his  means  to  his  desires,  while  the 

47 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

other  did  his  best  to  bring  down  his  desires  to 
his  means;  the  result  was  that  the  one  who  cov 
eted  much  was  always  repining,  while  he  who 
desired  but  little  was  always  contented. 

My  third  rule:  Look  on  the  sunny  side  of 
things. 

"Look  up  with  hopeful  eyes 

Though  all  things  seem  forlorn ; 

The  sun  that  sets  to-night  will  rise 
Again  to-morrow  morn." 

The  skipping  lamb,  the  singing  lark,  and  the 
leaping  fish  tell  us  that  happiness  is  not  confined 
in  one  place.  God,  in  his  goodness,  has  spread 
it  abroad  on  the  earth,  in  the  air,  and  in  the 
waters.  Two  women  (cousins,  I  believe)  lived 
in  the  same  house;  one  was  always  fearing  a 
storm,  and  the  other  was  always  looking  for 
sunshine.  Hardly  need  I  say  which  it  was  wore 
a  forbidding  frown,  or  which  it  was  whose  face 
was  lightened  up  with  joy. 


February  1,  1908. 

Well,  the  question  is  settled — I  am  doing 
something  for  others,  trying  to  make  little  chil 
dren  happy.  I  am  teaching  a  small  school  on 

48 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

an  island — a  few  fishermen's  families.  I  have 
only  from  ten  to  fifteen  scholars,  but  I  do  enjoy 
it.  I  wish  you  could  see  my  little  paradise  of  a 
school-house. 

The  island  itself  is  a  perfect  little  gem;  one 
of  the  loveliest  little  harbors  on  the  north  side, 
and  a  little  lagoon  in  the  center.  The  lagoon  is 
about  a  mile  long  and  eighty  rods  wide,  and  in 
the  lagoon  are  two  small  islands. 

Oh,  I  wish  I  could  write,  so  that  I  might  de 
scribe  it.  But  my  pen — it's  of  no  use.  My 
school-house  is  a  little  old  shack,  but  what  a 
delightful  situation  it  is,  out  of  hearing  of  the 
inhabitants,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  houses, 
I  should  think,  and  on  a  slight  eminence  com 
manding  a  charming  view  of  the  harbor  and  bay 
on  one  side,  and  the  little  lagoon  with  its  islands 
on  the  other.  Vessels  and  steamboats  pass 
often,  and  the  school-house  is  completely  em 
bowered  in  trees;  wild  roses  grow  in  profusion, 
and  such  quantities  and  varieties  of  wild  flowers 
as  I  never  saw  before.  Blueberries,  such  as  we 
used  to  cultivate  in  our  gardens  in  dear  old  Wis 
consin,  grow  here  wild  in  great  abundance. 
And  who  can  say  that  I  am  not  happy? 

We  often  have  picnic  parties  in  the  school- 
49 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

yard  under  the  trees,  and  Mr.  Schneppenhein  is 
very  attentive.  I  know  not  what  magnetic  in 
fluence  he  has  exerted  over  me,  but  his  sweet 
glance  when  his  eye  meets  mine,  haunts  me  all 
the  time,  and  the  air  is  always  clearer  when  he 
is  around. 


March  29,  1908. 

I  scarcely  know  how  it  happened  that  such  a 
warm,  rich  gush  of  happiness — never  felt  be 
fore  even  in  my  younger  days — has  given  to  all 
things  around  me  a  freshness,  and  a  new  joy,  and 
beauty  to  life.  Last  evening  we  found  ourselves 
quite  alone,  just  in  the  softening  twilight  shadow. 
Nothing  unusual,  it  is  true,  but  just  then  there 
was  a  thrilling  pleasure  in  being  alone.  The 
shadows  crept  softly  in  and  played  strange  frol 
ics  over  ceiling  and  floor;  the  light  boughs  of 
the  rose-bush  that  screened  the  window  stole  in 
and  brushed  my  cheek;  the  pendant  boughs  of 
shrubbery  rustled  in  the  slight  breeze,  and  the 
lemon-blossoms  gave  out  an  unnatural  oppres 
sive  odor.  The  night  was  perfect.  We  took  a 
ride  across  the  island.  It  was  as  beautiful  as 

50 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

you  can  imagine,  enough  in  itself  to  cure  a  per 
son  of  ordinary  ills.  The  rich  California 
ranches  and  meadows,  like  so  many  gardens, 
stretching  on  either  side,  bordered  with  trim 
hedges  of  cypress,  the  green  lanes  through  which 
we  drove,  lined  with  graceful  eucalyptus  arched 
over  our  heads;  the  thatched  cottages  of  the 
fishermen,  mantled  with  thick  covering  of  ivy, 
which  seems  here  most  luxuriant,  all  presented 
a  scene  of  quiet  beauty  and  richness. 

I  doubt  if  anything  more  beautiful  than  this 
country  life  in  California,  at  the  time  of  the 
orange  blossom,  can  be  found  in  any  country. 
On  this  island  there  are  the  most  romantic  little 
hamlets  built  in  among  the  cliffs,  sheltered  by 
high  hills  from  the  north  and  east  winds,  and 
exposed  only  upon  the  west.  The  climate  is  so 
mild  that  shrubs  and  flowers  flourish  here  in  the 
greatest  luxuriance.  The  banana,  the  fig-tree, 
and  even  the  fuchsia  grow  to  great  size  and  har 
dihood.  The  houses,  which  are  mostly  fancy 
cottages  and  villas,  are  perched  here  and  there 
in  retired  nooks,  with  winding  paths  that  reach 
them  from  the  neighboring  cliffs.  Everything 
seems  done  with  an  eye  to  the  picturesque;  and 
the  attempt  has  been  most  successful.  A  scene 

51 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

of  wilder  beauty  can  hardly  be  imagined  than  is 
to  be  found  along  the  coast  from  Newport  Bay 
to  Lagoona  Beach. 

On  our  way  home  I  was  thinking.  My  heart 
was  filled  with  peace  and  love,  when  I  came  out 
of  my  thought  and  was  once  more  aware  of  reali 
ties,  of  the  real  mortal  man  at  'my  side.  I  knew 
that  I  liked  him  heartily  then,  for  the  first  time, 
not  loved,  but  liked.  Looking  at  him,  I  saw 
that  he  was  just  coming  out  of  his  thought,  was 
just  drawing  himself  up  to  say,  "what  makes 
you  so  sly?" 

He  laughed,  thinking  how  still  I  was,  just  as 
I  laughed  thinking  how  still  he  was.  He  seemed 
to  enjoy  it,  just  as  I  did.  Pretty  soon,  when  he 
was  looking  my  hand  over,  examining  each  fin 
ger-tip  and  nail,  each  vein  upon  the  back,  each 
line  upon  the  palm,  spanning  the  wrist  with  his 
palm  and  overlapping  fingers,  he  said : 

"Your  hand  is  a  perfect  one,  Annie;  larger 
than  the  smallest,  and  so  it  ought  to  be,  for  one 
of  your  height  and  breadth  ;  but  the  shape  is  per 
fect,  and  so  will  the  softness  and  coloring  be, 
by  and  by,  when  I  get  you  away  from  all  this 
school  work.  I  know  beforehand  how  happy  I 
shall  be  taking  care  of  yon,  doing  everything  for 

52 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

you,  seeing  that  nothing  rude  or  troublesome 
comes  near  you." 

When  he  kissed  my  hand  in  ending,  as  a  token 
of  his  tenderness  toward  me,  I  kissed  his  hand, 
as  a  token  of  my  tenderness  toward  him.  When 
he  would  have  drawn  me  toward  him,  as  if  it 
were  to  shelter  me  from  the  rudenesses  and  trou 
bles  of  which  he  spoke,  I  knew  that  it  was  not 
for  me  to  be  so  drawn  and  sheltered  on  his 
breast.  On  the  contrary,  I  longed  to  draw  his 
head  to  mine  and  give  it  rest.  I  did  lay  my  palm 
on  his  forehead.  He  settled  back  as  if  tension 
were  giving  way  through  all  his  being,  and  said : 

"That  is  good!  How  cool  and  good  it  is!  My 
head  must  have  been  hot;  but  I  didn't  know  it. 
You  don't  know,  you  can't  think,  how  good  your 
hand  is  on  my  head,  Annie." 

There  was  a  strange,  trembling,  uncertain  joy 
at  my  heart.  What  was  it?  What  would  it 
bring  forth?  I  could  not  tell.  I  only  knew  it 
was  there,  and  I  vow  I  do  believe  that  I  was 
born  with  two  hearts,  because  I  know  that  I 
gave  one  whole  heart  to  Mr.  Shufflebottam,  and 
now  I  have  one  twice  as  big  for  George  Schnepp- 
enhein.  George  is  so  devoted,  you  know,  indeed 
it  would  not  be  hard  to  imagine  myself  in  love 

53 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

with  him  these  beautiful  evenings,  when  we  are 
out  riding,  gazing  out  upon  the  ocean  with  the 
moonlight  sleeping  silently  on  its  bosom,  and 
shining  on  it,  far  away,  far  away,  into  that  dim 
unknown,  mysterious  future,  like  our  lives  are, 
and  seeing  the  waves  come  rolling  and  leaping 
towards  the  shore,  then  breaking  against  it  with 
wild,  low  music. 


April  10,  1908. 

Perfect  love,  Mary  Ann,  has  this  advantage  in 
it,  that  it  leaves  the  possessor  of  it  nothing  fur 
ther  to  desire.  There  is  one  object,  at  least,  in 
which  the  soul  finds  absolute  content,  for  which 
it  seeks  to  live,  or  dares  to  die.  The  heart  has,  as 
it  were,  filled  up  the  molds  of  the  imagination; 
the  truth  of  passion  keeps  pace  with,  and  outvies 
the  extravagance  of  mere  language.  There  are 
no  words  so  fine,  no  flattery  so  soft  that  there 
is  not  a  sentiment  beyond  them  that  is  impossi 
ble  to  express,  at  the  bottom  of  the  heart,  where 
true  love  is.  What  idle  sounds  the  common 
phrases,  adorable  creature,  divinity,  angel,  are! 
What  a  proud  reflection  it  is  to  have  a  feeling 
answering  to  all  these  rooted  in  the  breast,  un- 

54 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

alterable,  unutterable,  to  which  all  other  feelings 
are  light  and  vain !  Perfect  love  reposes  on  the 
object  of  its  choice,  like  the  halcyon  on  the  wave, 
and  the  air  in  heaven  is  around  it! 

I  always  thought  there  was  nothing  in  this 
world  like  a  happy  marriage.  It  is  a  glorious 
sight  to  see  two  old  people,  who  have  weathered 
the  storms  and  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  life 
together,  go  hand  in  hand,  lovingly  and  truth 
fully,  down  the  gentle  declivity  of  time,  with  no 
anger,  nor  jealousies,  nor  hatreds  garnered  up 
against  each  other,  and  looking  with  hope  and 
joy  to  the  everlasting  youth  of  heaven,  where 
they  two  shall  be  one  forever.  That  is  true  mar 
riage, — for  it  is  the  marriage  of  spirit  with 
spirit.  Their  love  is  woven  into  a  woof  of  gold, 
that  neither  time  nor  eternity  can  sever.  I  am 
sure  that  such  a  marriage  will  be  George's  and 
mine,  Mary  Ann.  "Whoever  lives  true  life  will 
love  true  love." 


April  27,  1908. 
Happy?     Hardly,  but  quiet. 
I  came  in  from  school  this  afternoon,  and,  as 
I  removed  my  hat,  and  sat  down  in  my  chair  by 

55 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

the  open  window,  (how  very  strange  it  is,  people 
will  sit  away  from  a  window  when  they  can  get 
near  one!),  my  heart  abruptly  asked  me  the 
question,  and  answered  it  as  my  pen  has. 
George  is  not  here  to-day.  It  is  four  o'clock, 
Friday  afternoon.  School  closes  this  day  at 
half-past  three;  consequently,  I  have  an  hour 
more  than  usual  to  myself.  I  often  avail 
myself  of  it,  to  take  long  walks  into  the  orchard, 
or  down  to  the  seashore;  sometimes,  I  take  my 
scholars  with  me,  but  I  more  frequently  go  alone, 
when  George  is  not  here.  This  afternoon,  how 
ever,  I  could  not  walk,  there  has  been  a  clamor 
in  my  soul — a  quick,  vehement  upleaping  of  the 
tides.  I  am  trying  to  get  my  wits  together. 
All  day  I  have  been  trying  to  instil  into  the  little 
Mexican  minds,  the  following  rules,  in  the  jour 
ney  of  life. 

Never  ridicule  sacred  things,  or  what  others 
may  esteem  as  such,  however  absurd  they  may 
appear  to  you.  Never  resent  a  supposed  injury 
till  you  know  the  views  and  motives  of  the  author 
of  it.  On  no  occasion  relate  it.  Always  take 
the  part  of  an  absent  person  who  is  censured  in 
company,  so  far  as  truth  and  propriety  will 
allow.  Never  think  worse  of  another  on  account 

56 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

of  his  differing  in  political  and  religious  sub 
jects.  Never  dispute  with  any  one  who  is  more 
than  seventy  years  of  age,  nor  with  any  enthu 
siast.  Do  not  jest  so  as  to  wound  the  feelings 
of  another.  Say  as  little  as  possible  of  yourself 
and  of  those  who  are  near  to  you.  Never  court 
the  favor  of  the  rich,  by  flattering  either  their 
vanities  or  their  vices.  Speak  with  calmness 
and  deliberation,  especially  in  circumstances 
which  tend  to  irritate. 

Don't  you  think  those  are  very  good  rules?  I 
wish  I  could  practice  them  myself.  Would  you 
believe  it,  my  way  of  governing  the  black  tots, 
is  through  kindness?  I  think  the  sweetest,  the 
most  clinging  affection  is  often  shaken  by  the 
slightest  breath  of  unkindness,  as  the  delicate 
tendrils  of  the  vine  are  agitated  by  the  faintest 
air  that  blows  in  summer.  An  unkind  word 
from  one  beloved  often  draws  the  blood  from 
many  a  heart  which  would  defy  the  battle-axe  of 
hatred,  or  the  keenest  edge  of  vindictive  satire. 
Nay,  the  shade,  the  gloom  of  the  face,  familiar 
and  dear,  awakens  grief  and  pain.  These  are  the 
little  thorns  which,  though  men  of  rougher  form 
make  their  way  through  them  without  feeling 
much,  extremely  incommode  persons  of  a  more 

57 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

refined  turn  in  their  journey  through  life,  and 
make  their  travelling  irksome  and  unpleasant. 

I  think  I  am  at  least  a  tolerable  teacher,  don't 
you?  I  am  going  to  close  my  little  school  next 
week.  George  is  going  to  take  me  in  to  Los 
Angeles,  to  see  the  Atlantic  fleet.  They  say, 
unchain  the  thunders,  every  one,  and  let  the  skies 
echo  back  the  welcome!  Let  Los  Angeles  and 
all  her  back  country,  away  over  the  deserts  and 
mountains,  from  the  plains  and  valleys  and  from 
the  mountain  tops,  pour  out  their  thousands  and 
their  tens  of  thousands  to  greet  the  great  peace 
makers  of  the  age.  No  throat  shall  be  mute,  no 
eye  dull,  no  heart  without  its  response. 

Americans,  the  fleet  and  all  its  commanders 
and  all  its  crews  will  be  in  Los  Angeles  on 
Easter  Sunday.  The  East  has  had  these  ships 
which  fly  so  proudly  the  flag  we  love  so  dearly, 
they  have  been  welcomed  with  enthusiasm  at 
many  foreign  ports.  On  Easter  Sunday  they 
will  all  be  ours. 


May  10,  1908. 

All  my  life  I  have  wanted  to  see  a  fleet.  My 
wish  has  been  fulfilled.  The  Atlantic  navy  has 
just  left  our  shores,  the  gentlemen  of  the  navy, 

58 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

who  have  in  their  hands  the  defense  of  our 
nation  on  the  seas,  have  been  at  home  with  us. 
We  love  the  men  and  the  ships.  They  are  dear 
to  us  because  they  stand  guard  to  defend  us. 
Every  man  is  our  hero,  because  his  body  stands 
between  us  and  danger.  Every  home  in  Los 
Angeles  was  decorated  from  top  to  bottom  to 
greet  the  brave  seamen.  The  thousands  of  men 
on  these  ships  are  our  countrymen.  They  are, 
every  man,  our  fellow  citizens.  We  sit  at  home 
and  enjoy  our  ease  under  our  vine  and  fig-tree. 
We  go  from  city  to  city  and  from  place  to  place 
and  buy  and  sell  and  get  gain.  Those  gallant 
sailor  men  have  no  home  but  their  ships,  no  place 
of  abode  but  the  vast  wandering  seas,  no  bed  but 
their  narrow  hammock.  They  give  up  all  the 
opportunities  of  making  a  fortune  and  all  the 
comforts,  luxuries  and  pleasures  of  life.  In  case 
of  war  they  offer  their  hearts'  blood  for  our  pro 
tection.  To  us  they  stand  as  the  exponent  of 
American  manhood  and  of  American  patriotism. 
The  wonderful  American  battleship  fleet  has 
again  resumed  its  long  journey  around  the  world. 
After  having  passed  a  week  at  the  ports  near 
Los  Angeles,  it  was  a  sight  that  stirred  our 
hearts  to  such  an  extent  that  tears  filled  our 

59 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

eyes,  while  our  hearts  swelled  with  pride;  and 
our  voices,  trembling  with  emotion,  found  in  the 
wild,  joyous  cheers  of  welcome  that  were  carried 
out  by  wind  and  wave  from  the  thousands  on 
shore  to  the  thousands  of  seamen  standing  on 
the  decks,  waiting  expectantly  for  this  welcome. 

When  strains  of  the  "Star  Spangled  Banner" 
and  the  national  hymn  floated  from  ships'  deck  to 
shore,  the  nerves  burned  with  the  full  realization 
of  what  love  of  country  really  means.  It  was  a 
truly  memorable  event,  one  that  we  will  ever 
remember.  It  was  a  "dress  parade"  of  the  finest 
body  of  battleships  the  world  ever  saw.  And, 
do  believe  me,  Mary  Ann,  the  officers  and  all  the 
enlisted  men  said  before  they  left  that  Los  An 
geles  was  the  best  city  they  had  ever  seen. 

I  heard  one  handsome  young  officer  say: 
"Never  has  such  a  welcome  been  given  us  as  we 
have  received  in  Los  Angeles.  Never  again, 
though  we  sail  around  the  world  and  back,  will 
we  get  another  like  it." 

It  made  us  feel  a  little  proud  when  those 
14,338  men  frankly  told  us  that  they  had  spent 
the  happiest  week  of  their  lives  in  this  city. 

There  was  one  incident  at  the  park  one  day 
which  was  an  inspiring  lesson  to  every  young 

60 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

man  in  this  country.  About  one  thousand  blue 
jackets  started  for  the  barbecue.  The  rain  was 
coming'  down  as  if  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  and 
the  big  field  was  blue  with  a  shifting  multitude. 
Suddenly  the  band  broke  out  with  "the  Star 
Spangled  Banner."  It  was  like  magic  in  that 
field.  Instantly  every  man  stood  to  attention  in 
the  rain  and  waited  until  the  last  note,  then  they 
simultaneously  saluted. 

They  are  all,  every  last  one  of  them,  fair- 
minded,  brave-hearted,  unselfish  men.  Their 
wonderful  journ,ey  began  December  16,  from 
Hampton  Roads,  Va.  There  are  sixteen  battle 
ships  and  six  torpedo-boats  and  a  number  of 
cruisers.  We  hope  and  pray  that  they  will  all 
remain  on  the  Pacific  coast.  We  need  them  to 
protect  our  great  Western  States  and  their  des 
tinies.  We  ought  to  be  considered  just  as  much 
as  the  Atlantic  coast. 

Our  best  wishes  will  follow  the  sailor  lads 
around  the  world. 


NEWPORT  BAY,    May  2,  1908. 
The  sun  darting  into  my  little  bedroom  awoke 
me  very  early  this  morning,  Mary  Ann.     It  was 
so  happy  and  brilliant — as  brilliant  as  I  should 

61 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

like  to  see  it  on  iny  wedding-day — that  I  couldn't 
sleep.  I  am  weary  and  all  tired  out.  It  was 
nearly  midnight  when  we  got  back  from  Los 
Angeles.  I  must  go  and  teach  the  little  Mexi 
cans,  and  that  is  my  "bugbear!" 

Mar}r  Ann,  I  found  out  when  I  was  in  Los 
Angeles,  everybody  who  is  anybody,  don't  call 
themselves  by  long  disagreeable,  ugly  Christian 
names,  any  more.  You  see,  a  young  lady's  name 
has  more  to  do  with  her  happiness  and  prosperity 
than  we  are  apt  to  imagine.  Your  name  is  top- 
heavy,  Mary  Ann.  I  am  going  to  call  you  Marie, 
Mamy,  May,  May  me,  Mae  or  Mollie,  or  Mazie, 
or  Minnie — when  you  write  let  me  know  which 
one  of  the  above  names  you  prefer.  In  the 
meantime  I  wrill  call  you  Mae — it  is  so  short, 
you  know.  You  should  have  changed  your  name 
long  ago  and  insured  yourself,  against  the  peril 
of  ridicule.  You  can  no  more  exercise  your  rea 
son  if  you  live  in  the  constant  dread  of  laughter 
than  you  can  enjoy  your  life  if  you  are  in  the 
constant  terror  of  death. 

You  ought  to  have  your  mother  prosecuted,  for 
naming  you  Mary  Ann  Josephine  Hose.  You  see 
everything  is  education  and  fashion  out  here  in 
the  West.  The  trains  of  thought  we  are  indul- 

62 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

ging  in  this  hour;  the  society  in  which  we  will 
spend  the  evening;  the  conversations,  walks  and 
incidents  of  to-morrow.  And  so  ought  it  to  be. 
We  may  thank  the  West  for  its  infinite  means  of 
impression  and  excitement  which  keep  our  fac 
ulties  awake  and  in  action,  while  it  is  our  im 
portant  office  to  preside  over  that  action,  and 
guide  it  to  some  divine  result. 

And  about  the  latest  style,  Mary  Ann  or  Mae, 
I  mean.  Many  ladies  in  Los  Angeles,  are  wear 
ing  low  dainty  little  socks.  They  are  so  cute  I 
got  me  a  pair.  But  I  find  I  can't  wear  them  on 
account  of  the  rheumatism  in  my  knees.  There 
fore,  I  will  send  them  to  you  and  you  can  lead 
the  style  in  the  East.  You  can  see  that  my  en 
deavors  are  always  directed  towards  doing  good 
to  you.  (I  wish  that  I  could  say  the  same  about 
you). 

To  tell  you,  my  dear  cousin,  that  you  live  in 
my  most  grateful  remembrance,  though  many  a 
long  and  weary  mile  separates  us,  would  be  but 
to  repeat  what  you  already  know;  for  could  I 
be  guilty  of  such  baseness  as  ingratitude  after 
you  have  done  so  much  for  me  when  I  was 
young?  I  will  try  to  forget  your  indifference 
now.  I  sometimes  feel  as  though  I  could  fly  to 

63 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

breathe  once  more  the  pure  and  bracing  air  of 
Wisconsin,  and  take  a  glimpse  at  you  all  at  the 
old  home.  But  I  trust  that,  whether  we  shall 
ever  behold  each  other  again  on  earth  or  not,  I 
am,  by  God's  grace,  preparing  to  meet  you  far 
above  the  sky  in  his  own  good  time,  when  we 
shall  have  left  this  sinful  world.  We  should  fix 
eye  and  heart  upon  that  heaven  which  He,  the 
first-born,  has  preoccupied.  We  should  feel  that 
in  Him  a  portion  of  ourselves  has  departed 
thither,  a  sinless  type  of  humanity,  which  keeps 
its  place  for  the  rest;  and  that  our  heart,  in 
Christ,  being  already  there,  all  else  should  strug 
gle,  with  holy  impatience,  to  follow. 

I  feel  a  little  melancholy,  this  morning,  I 
don't  know  why,  and  I  had  a  very  restless  night, 
perhaps  it  is  because  I  am  so  very  much  in  love. 
But  when  one  is  in  love  the  heart  should  be  a 
fair  and  fertile  garden,  glowing  with  sunshine 
and  warm  hues  and  exhaling  sweet  odors.  I 
am  nervous  and  must  stop,  Mr.  Schneppenhein 
will  be  here  in  a  few  moments.  Sclmeppenhein, 
the  name  will  be  the  bane  of  my;  life,  but  I  will 
escape  the  ridicule  which  is  often  poured  forth 
on  unmarried  women  of  a  certain  age. 

Mary  Ann  (or  Mae,  I  should  say)  you  ought 
64 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

to  get  married,  before  you  pass  the  heyday  of 
youth,  because  they  say  that  old  maids  can't 
cherish  youthful  feelings,  and  look  with  a  fresh 
and  unsated  eye  on  all  that  is  beautiful  in  nature 
and  lovely  in  character.  The  glory  of  the  earth 
and  sky  have  less  significance  for  her  than  when 
in  early  life  it  enchained  her  attention;  poetry, 
music,  painting,  literature,  the  cultivation  of  the 
intellect — everything  that  enlarges  the  soul  and 
thrills  the  heart — have  no  charms  for  the  old 
maid.  She  often  feels  solitary  and  sad,  and  in 
"days  that  are  dark  and  dreary"  she  wishes  that 
her  lot  had  been  a  different  one.  She  is  always 
worrying  and  repining. 

Why,  do  you  know  that  some  people  actually 
think  that  old  maids  have  no  souls?  For  my 
part,  they  can  think  as  they  please,  for  I  am  not 
going  to  be  one.  Mr.  Schneppenhein  is  coming 
this  evening,  and  I  tell  you  I  think  that  there 
will  be  something  doing  because  he  measured  my 
finger  when  we  were  in  Los  Angeles,  I  will  hurry 
to  write  you  all  about  it.  Don't  be  grieved,  dis 
appointed,  and  vexed  with  me,  because  I  hav'n't 
sent  you  an  invitation  to  be  present.  There  will 
be  no  cards.  I  will  just  write  and  tell  my  little 
story  after  it  is  all  over.  My  school  closes  in 

65 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

about  two  weeks,  then  I  will  be  free  to  do  as  I 
please  and  go  where  I  will. 

I  fancy  I  will  be  teaching,  loving,  honoring, 
and  obeying  one  scholar  next  term.  When  I  get 
married,  I  mean  to  tease  my  husband  almost  to 
death.  I  do  like  to  tease  those  I  love."  Ha,  ha! 

I  know,  Mary  (or  Mae),  you  shall  be  one  of 
those  dear,  quiet,  kind,  unobtrusive  old  maids 
that  go  about  doing  good,  so  quietly,  so  gently; 
that  sacrifice  everything,  if  it  adds  to  the  happi 
ness  of  those  around  them ;  yet  do  all  so  silently 
that  no  one  knows  their  worth  until  they  have 
passed  away  forever.  Then  they  leave  a  vacant 
place,  and  their  memory  is  loved  and  reverenced. 
Or  you  will  be  like  those  five  Miss  Dolittles,  who 
every  one  says  are  trying  to  catch  husbands,  and 
every  one  despises,  or  like  that  queer  sentimental 
Miss  Sykes,  or  like  old  Miss  Skully,  who  looks 
as  though  she  lived  on  sour  grapes  and  persim 
mons. 

Oh,  Mae,  forgive  me,  you  shall  belong  to  none 
of  those  classes;  but  you  will  be  like  the  old 
maids  whose  lives  are  so  good  and  beautiful  that 
we  never  think  of  them  as  such.  No,  you  shall 
not  be  an  old  maid ;  you  must  marry  some  noble 
man  like  Mr.  Schneppenhein.  He  will  be  here 

66 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

in  a  few  minutes,  and  I  must  run  and  make  up. 
When  I  see  him  coming,  my  dull  blue  eyes,  are 
lit  up  with  affection.  His  look,  his  tone,  thrills 
me  to  the  soul.  I  fancy  I  love  him,  don't  you? 
George  and  I  have  never  spoken  to  each  other 
about  getting  married.  I  wonder  how  he  will 
introduce  the  subject.  I  will  write  you  all  to 
morrow. 


June  5,  1908. 

I  should  have  written  before,  dearest  Mary 
Ann  (or  Mae,  I  should  say),  if  I  had  not  been 
reduced  to  such  fearful  pain,  I  have  actually 
been  incapable  of  doing  anything  the  last  two 
weeks.  How  shall  I  explain?  I  don't  kno\v 
what  to  say. 

But  you  mustn't  start,  Mae,  if  I  tell  you 
that  I  am  to  be  an  old  maid,  forever.  But  it  is 
true,  and  I  can  assure  you  I  find  it  anything  but 
agreeable.  Mary  (or  Mae)  if  I  didn't  fortu 
nately  possess  a  very  strong  constitution,  I 
should  not  now  be  writing  to  you. 

I  am  satisfied  that  the  ending  of  this,  my  last 
love  affair,  would  have  caused  any  ordinary 
woman  to  "collapse."  However,  though  greatly 

67 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

shocked,  I  survived  it.  I  continue  my  way 
alone,  I  never  will  allow  myself  to  fall  in  love 
with  a  man  again,  I  have  determined  to  be  a 
man  hater,  I  will  soon  be  snugly  settled  in  my 
own  little  home,  on  my  little  ranch.  I  have 
decided,  to  live  there  the  rest  of  my  life,  and 
raise  poultry.  I  will  take  one  old  colored  woman 
to  live  with  me,  I  mean  to  shut  myself  in,  away 
from  the  outside  world,  and  try  to  be  happy  there 
alone,  with  my  poultry  and  books. 

I  am  sure  you  will  sympathize  with  me  when 
I  inform  you  of  my  loss,  oh  heart-breaking  word ! 
My  heart  is  in  such  a  flutter  that  I  can  hardly 
write  even  now,  I  feel  as  though  my  pen  hesitates 
while  trying  to  inform  you  what  a  fiery  furnace 
of  affliction  I  have  been  tried  in  during  the  last 
few  weeks. 

But  the  sweet  recollection  of  your  sympathiz 
ing  with  me  in  the  loss  of  my  parents,  when  I 
was  young,  convinces  me  that  it  will  be  a  great 
relief  to  pour  out  all  my  sorrowful  feelings  into 
your  kindly  ears.  Yes,  this  has  been  to  me  a 
very  gloomy  month,  in  which  I  have  drank  deeply 
of  the  cup  of  affliction ;  for  a  beloved  sweetheart 
has  been  snatched  away  from  my  fond  embrace 
as  if  it  were  a  passing  dream. 

68 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

I  don't  want  you  to  mingle  your  tears  with 
mine,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  laugh  at  me;  I  just 
want  you  to  feel  for  me. 


June  7,  1908. 

GOD  made  both  tears  and  laughter,  and  both 
for  kind  purposes ;  for  as  laughter  enables  mirth 
and  surprise  to  breathe  freely,  so  tears  hinder 
sorrow  to  vent  itself  patiently.  Tears  prevent 
sorrow  from  becoming  despair  and  madness,  and 
laughter  is  one  of  the  very  privileges  of  reason, 
being  confined  to  the  human  species. 

But  there  are  some  passages  of  life  over  which 
one's  memory  always  pauses  with  a  shudder; 
and  even  now  my  hand  trembles  and  my  heart 
sinks  as  it  reverts  to  that  terrible  night  when 
George  Schneppenhein,  and  I  were  to  become 
engaged,  we  parted  forever.  The  tears  blind  me 
I  cannot  write;  but  it  may  be,  Mary  Ann  (Mae), 
you  can  partially  comprehend  the  agony  of  that 
dark  night.  Still  I  know  that  you  can't,  because 
you  never  were  in  love.  With  love  the  heart  be 
comes  a  fair  and  fertile  garden,  glowing  with 
sunshine  and  warm  hues,  and  exhaling  sweet 
odors.  But  with  lost  love  it  becomes  a  dull, 
dreary  place.  Of  course,  I  fancied  I  could  de- 

69 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

tect,  now  and  then,  that  George  Schneppenhein 
had  occasional  faults  like  the  rest  of  men;  he 
was  so  easily  influenced,  had  so  little  strength 
of  character. 

Well,  the  evening  we  parted  he  invited  me  to 
take  a  walk — "our  last  walk."  We  walked  on 
for  some  time,  chatting  of  those  things  which  oc 
cupied  our  thoughts  least,  as  people  generally  do 
when  anxious  to  avoid  an  approach  to  the  sub 
ject  uppermost  in  their  mind.  I  was  thinking 
how  very  dull  it  would  be  without  him,  how  I 
should  miss  his  sweet  smile  and  ready  offers  of 
assistance  to  help  conquer  any  difficulties  which 
might  occur  to  me  in  my  teaching. 

At  last,  I  said,  "week  after  next  is  vacation. 
I  need  the  rest  from  my  labors,  as  well  as  the 
children,  for  the  weather  is  very  warm,  and  the 
hours  are  very  long  in  the  little  school-house.  I 
look  forward  with  some  trepidation  to  the  visit 
of  the  committee,  yet  the  children  all  seem  to  feel 
stimulated  to  do  their  best,  and  I  hope  the  exam 
ination  will  pass  off  creditably  to  all  concerned." 

"What  care  you  what  they  think,  Annie?" 
said  he.  "You  are  not  going  back  to  teach  that 
school  next  term." 

Then  he  began  to  recite  Longfellow's  "goblet 
70 


My  First  Couxin,  or  Myself. 

of  life"  to  ine.  What  a  voice  he  has,  and  how 
the  clear,  deep,  rich  tones  vibrated  along  those 
grand  stanzas,  which  are  the  voice  of  a  prophet 
and  poet  anointed  of  God! 

I  could  have  walked  for  hours,  listening  to 
those  deep,  low  tones  that  thrilled  me  like  the 
sound  of  a  trumpet  or  the  swell  of  an  organ. 
But  the  evening  was  growing  late,  and  we  had 
to  return  to  the  house.  My  heart  seemed  to  have 
taken  up  some  new,  sweet  tunes  of  happiness, 
and  I  walked  to  their  soft  mysterious  airs,  led  by 
a  summer  moon  through  the  blue  deeps  of  an 
unclouded  sky.  The  quiet  armies  of  the  stars 
had  almost  passed  the  meridian  of  their  march 
when  we  reached  the  gate. 

Oh,  heart  of  mine,  how  can  I  tell  you  the  rest? 
I  am  unloved  and  alone.  We  stood  at  the  gate 
for  a  while.  The  breeze  had  freshened;  I  shiv 
ered  slightly  as  I  hung  upon  his  arm. 

"I  am  so  thoughtless,"  he  said.  "Forgive  me, 
Annie.  May  I  call  you  so,  dearest?  I  was  so 
selfishly  happy  having  you  here,  all  alone 
by  myself,"  and  he  wrapped  my  cloak  more 
closely  about  me,  "I  must  guard  my  little  flower 
always  from  chilling  winds,"  he  added.  And  his 
voice  took  a  lighter  tone.  "Annie,"  he  said,  in 

71 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

almost  a  whisper.  "When  your  school  closes, 
will  you  go  with  me  to  Mexico,  and  be  contented 
there?" 

"Anywhere  with  you,"  I  replied  in  a  low  voice, 
as  I  looked  into  his  eyes.  My  eyes,  were  full  of 
a  woman's  full  trust,  and  tender  love,  nay  even 
of  self-devotion.  Then  we  both  stood  quite  still 
for  a  moment,  I  was  thinking.  He  loves  me,  he 
does  love  me ;  I  knew  he  did.  But  I  ventured  to 
say.  "Why  go  to  Mexico,  George?  Can't  we 
live  here?"  He  strove  to  calm  himself  when  he 
thought  of  what  was  now  before  him — of  the  dis 
closure  he  must  now  make.  I  could  see  that  a 
feeling  of  utter  despair  crept  over  him  as  he  an 
ticipated  the  consequences  of  his  confession.  He 
must  have  felt  sure  that  I,  guileless  soul,  would 
not  only  approve  of  but  would  not  comprehend 
the  train  or  reasoning  which  had  been  so  power 
ful  upon  his  mind,  while  his  voice  was  broken 
with  emotion.  He  said.  "Because  you  are  my 
affinity." 

"Affinity?"  I  repeated,  and  crustily  asked, 
"what  is  that?" 

He  strove  in  a  restless  way  to  explain.  "Af 
finity,  darling,  is  a  physical  or  spiritual  attrac 
tion  believed  by  some  sects  to  exist  between  per- 

72 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

sons,  sometimes  applied  concretely  to  the  sub 
jects  or  objects  of  the  affinity.  Spiritualists  ac 
cept  the  doctrine  of  special  affinities  between 
man  and  woman ;  affinities  which  imply  a  spirit 
ual  relation  of  the  sexes  higher  and  holier  than 
marriage.  Such  natures  as  on  coming  near, 
lay  hold  of  each  other  and  modify  each  other, 
we  call  affinities."  "Oh,"  I  said.  "I  should 
rather  we  would  get  married,  and  live  here, 
George." 

"But,  Annie,  I  am  married,  I  have  a  wife  and 
two  children  living  in  Pasadena,  I  am  willing  to 
leave  them,  give  up  everything,  and  flee  with  you 
to  Mexico." 

I  felt  the  cold  shivers  creeping  over  me.  I 
shook  with  nervousness  and  temper,  I  tried  to 
speak,  but  not  a  sound  could  I  make,  I  opened 
my  mouth,  but  my  throat  was  paralyzed  from 
nervous  terror.  There  was  a  long  pause,  I  gath 
ered  myself  together  and  made  one  heroic  effort, 
my  voice  rang  out  into  the  great  empty  garden. 

"George  Schneppenhein,"  I  cried  springing 
back,  "  go  away  from  me,  far  away,  and  never 
come  near  me  again.  Go  away!  never  let  me  see 
you  again,  go!  Do  you  hear?"  I  almost 
shrieked.  "Do  you  dare  to  stand  there  and  say 

73 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

that  you  are  a  married  man,  and  have  not  told 
me  of  it  before?"  I  exclaimed. 

He  muttered  something  bitterly;  then  with  a 
look  of  deep  suffering,  he  said,  quietly,  but  his 
voice  trembled,  "Darling,  you  do  not  know,  you 
do  not  know." 

"I  do,  I  do,"  I  said  with  frantic  energy.  "I 
will  go  and  explain  all  to  your  poor  wife." 

I  was  completely  stunned  by  my  own  violence. 

"God  help  me!"  he  said,  and  sat  down  by  my 
feet,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  One  great 
sob  came  up  from  the  deeps  of  his  soul,  and,  as 
if  ashamed  of  betraying  this  weakness,  he  rose 
up  hastily.  His  face  was  deadly  pale,  as  he 
turned  from  me  with  a  listless,  weary  step,  and 
went  away,  leaving  me  leaning  against  a  big 
palm-tree,  looking  after  him  with  blinded  eyes. 
I  went  in  the  house  and  rushed  upstairs,  and 
threw  myself  on  my  bed.  "Oh,  misery,  misery!" 
I  groaned  out  and  all  through  the  night  I  tossed 
and  moaned ;  but  towards  morning  fell  into  a 
troubled  slumber,  from  which  I  was  awakened 
by  myself  calling  out,  "George,  how  could  you 
fool  me?"  Well  it  is  all  over,  I  thought  while 
I  was  dressing  for  school,  the  quiet  love  that 
lingered  in  my  heart  has  passed  away,  and  the 
old,  desolate  weary  feeling  has  come  back. 

74 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

In  life's  struggles,  there  are  moments  when 
the  liberty  of  the  inner  life,  opposed  to  the  tram 
mels  of  the  outer,  becomes  too  oppressive;  mo 
ments  when  we  wish  that^our  mental  horizon 
were  less  extended,  thought  less  free;  when  we 
long  to  put  the  discursive  soul  into  a  narrow 
path  like  a  railway,  and  force  it  to  run  on  in  a 
straight  line  to  some  determined  goal. 

O,  mirth!  O,  sadness!  How  oft  ye  tread,  un 
recognized,  but  twin-handed,  side  by  side!  I 
promise  to  tell  you  the  remainder  of  this  sad 
story  in  n^  next.  Au  revoir,  Mae.  Until  vaca 
tion. 


July  9,  1908. 


"Haunted  house,  or  haunted  heart ! 
Which  conceals  the  deeper  smart? 
Here  are  chill  and  joyless  rooms, 
Flitting  shadows,  hovering  glooms, 
Many  a  fearful  voice  and  face ; 
Oh !  thou  dread  and  dreary  place, 
Haunted  house.  I  fly  from  thee. 

Yet  the  world  could  ne'er  impart 
Peace  to  me,  whose  haunted  heart 
Whispered  of  a  promise  spoken, 
Of  a  trust  which  had  been  broken. 
No  new  faith  could  give  me  cheer, 
No  new  promise  could  be  dear; 
Haunted  house.  I  cling  to  thee." 

75 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

Alas,  my  dear  cousin,  my  adventures  are  like 
the  recollection  of  some  wild,  fevered  dream,  a 
hideous  nightmare,  from  which  we  start  with 
bristling  hair,  while  the  cold  sweat  bursts  from 
every  pore! 

Had  I  not  been  seized  with  that  fatal  yearn 
ing  to  visit  California,  had  I  resisted  firmly  my 
restless  love  of  adventure,  I  might  still  have  been 
at  home,  a  careless,  light-hearted  rattle-brain 
like  yourself.  And  yet,  Mae,  there  is  a  strange, 
unnatural  kind  of  pleasure  felt  sometimes  in  the 
continual  attacks  of  evil  fortune.  The  dogged 
courage  with  which  we  bear  up  against  the  ills 
of  fate,  swimming  strongly  as  the  wraves  grow 
rougher,  has  its  own  meed  of  consolation.  It  is 
only  at  such  a  time,  perhaps,  that  the  really  in 
dependent  spirit  of  our  natures  is  in  the  ascen 
dent,  and  that  we  can  stand  amid  the  storm,  con 
scious  of  our  firmness,  and  bid  the  winds  "blow 
and  crack  their  cheeks."  Yet,  through  how 
many  sorrows  must  one  have  waded  ere  she 
reaches  this  point.  Through  what  trials  must 
she  have  passed ;  how  must  hope  have  paled,  and 
flickered,  and  died  out,  how  must  all  self-love, 
all  ambition,  all  desire  itself  have  withered  with 
in  us,  till  we  become  like  the  rock  amid  the 

76 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

breakers,  against  which  the  waves  beat  in  vain! 
Good    intentions,    like   the    waxen    wings   of 
Icarus,  melt  with  the  morning  sun. 


July  21,  1908. 

Well,  Mae,  we  are  snugly  settled  in  my  cozy 
little  home,  on  my  'ranch.  Old  Mammy  and  I 
live  all  alone  in  the  quaintest  little  cottage,  with 
green  blinds  and  gray  gables,  the  honeysuckle 
toiling  up  its  sides,  with  the  white  blossoms  flash 
ing  like  stars  among  the  green  leaves.  Then 
there  are  two  old  pine-trees  that  stood  for  years 
before  the  front  door,  like  tall  friars  with  green 
stoles  folded  over  their  bosoms;  and  on  either 
side  of  the  gravel-walks,  violets  and  poppies 
make  a  ruffling  of  gold  and  purple  down  to  the 
little  gate. 

Oh,  it  is  a  happy  home  to  me!  I  sit  here  and 
close  my  eyes,  and,  looking  down  into  the  far 
land  of  my  memory,  ther6,  I  touch  upon  a  tender 
subject.  I  must  forget,  may  God  forgive  men, 
for  they  aa*e  very  wicked.  There  is  plenty  of 
work  here  for  Hattie,  the  colored  woman,  and  I 
to  do. 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

July  26,  1908. 

Labor  is  an  ordinance  of  God;  virtue  and  in 
dustry  go  hand  in  hand  together.  We  were  not 
born  into  this  world  to  be  idlers  and  loungers. 
Not  enjoyment  but  duty  should  be  the  aim  of 
life;  the  daily  heavings  of  the  strong  bosom  of 
humanity  tell  us  this.  Every  law  in  nature  en 
dorses  the  necessity  of  activity ;  our  physical  and 
intellectual  powers  are  developed  by  labor.  I 
will  labor  and  do  penance  for  my  sins. 

I  wrish  you  would  come  out  here  and  pass  a 
few  months  in  California  with  me,  I  know  that 
you  would  enjoy  it  for  a  while  down  here  in 
Fairview,  on  the  ranch.  Fairview  is  situated  a 
short  distance  from  the  ocean  shores  of  silvery 
spray  and  thundering  breakers,  and  the  moun 
tains  on  the  north  side  with  their  snow-capped 
peaks.  Between  the  mountains  and  Fairview 
are  crowded  charming  villages  and  handsome 
cities  and  long,  wide  stretches  of  orange  groves, 
green  vineyards,  apricots,  and  peach  orchards,  and 
between  the  ocean  and  here  are  winding  streams 
and  poppy-flaming  plains.  Either  side  of  Fair- 
view  is  worth  crossing  the  continent  to  see. 

I  don't  think  you  will  know  me  when  you  see 
me,  because  I  am  bepainted  and  betwittered  till 

78 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

I  am  as  hideous  as  a  hot-house  plant.  If  you 
make  up  your  mind  to  come  out  here,  Mae,  don't 
forget  to  send  a  letter  in  advance  to  the  president 
of  the  Los  Angeles  Chamber  of  Commerce,  to 
let  them  know  that  you  are  coming,  and  they 
will  appoint  four  or  five  of  its  members  as  dele 
gates  to  go  out  as  far  as  Pomona,  to  meet  you, 
and  welcome  you.  They  will  take  a  box  of  oran 
ges  with  them  and  give  you  every  one  in  the  box. 
They  will  also  give  you  the  key  to  Los  Angeles, 
and  say  to  you,  there  are  the  mountains  on  one 
side  and  the  ocean  on  the  other,  and  there  is  the 
key  to  the  valley.  They  will  make  you  feel  as  if 
you  own  the  State.  They  go  out  to  meet  every 
one  that  comes  to  Los  Angeles,  if  they  know  when 
they  are  coming.  Therefore,  don't  fail  to  let 
them  know  when  you  will  start,  and  it  won't  cost 
you  one  cent  for  food  from  Pomona  to  Los  An 
geles,  I  made  a  big  mistake  when  I  didn't  let 
them  know  that  I  was  coming,  you  know.  Los 
Angeles  is  a  very  generous  town. 

Well,  now  I  must  run  out  and  feed  the  chick 
ens.  They  are  always  glad  to  see  me,  and  I  am 
glad  to  see  them.  Three  weeks  seems  to  me  like 
an  age.  I  am  sure  I  will  atone  for  all  the  wicked 
things  I  done  when  I  Avas  young.  It  will  be  so 

79 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

lonely  for  me  out  here,  but  I  will  turn  to  my 
books;  they  always  receive  me  with  the  same 
kindness. 

Books  are  not  absolutely  dead  things,  but  do 
contain  a  potency  of  life  in  them,  to  be  as  active 
as  that  soul  was  whose  progeny  they  are.  Nay, 
they  do  preserve,  as  in  a  vial,  the  purest  efficacy 
and  extraction  of  that  living  intellect  that  bred 
them.  I  know  they  are  as  lively  and  as  vigor 
ously  productive  as  those  fabulous  dragon's 
teeth ;  and  being  sown  up  and  down,  may  chance 
to  spring  up  armed  men,  as  good  almost  to  kill 
a  man,  as  kill  a  good  book;  who  kills  a  man,  kills 
a  reasonable  creature — God's  image;  but  he  who 
destroys  a  good  book  kills  reason  itself — kills 
the  image  of  God,  as  it  were,  in  the  eye.  Many 
a  man  lives  a  burden  to  the  earth;  but  a  good 
book  as  the  precious  life-blood  of  a  master  spirit, 
embalmed  and  treasured  upon  purpose  to  a  life 
beyond  life. 

Well,  dear  me,  I  am  forgetting  my  work,  the 
chickens  are  going  to  roost.  Being,  by  nature, 
rather  an  orderly  and  systematic  person,  I  al 
ways  try  to  feed  the  poultry,  before  dark. 


80 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

August  7,  1908. 

Well,  Mary  Ann,  oh,  why  can't  I  think,  Mae, 
I  should  say,  here  goes  for  another  installment, 
I  want  to  tell  you  this  morning  how  much  has 
happened  since  I  last  drew  my  pen  over  these 
pages.  I  think  I  have  been  delirious  most  of  the 
time.  You  know  they  say  that  falling  in  love  is 
a  habit.  Well,  I  fear  it  is,  for  do  you  know,  Mae, 
I  really  believe  that  I  am  in  love  again,  and  it 
seems  like  the  first  time  in  my  life.  It  makes 
me  so  nervous  to  write  about  it  that  my  hand 
shakes  like  an  old  woman's.  You  see,  Mae,  our 
physical  wants  result  almost  entirely  from  cus 
tom,  and  the  resources  of  our  minds  greatly  de 
pend  upon  its  usages.  Since  custom  "is  the  chief 
magistrate  of  our  lives,  let  us  by  all  means  en 
deavor  to  obtain  good  customs."  I  find  that 
being  in  love  is  not  a  bad  one.  If  you  only  knew 
how  nice  it  was  to  be  loved  for  one's  self,  you 
would  agree  with  me,  Mae. 

This  last  love  affair  all  came  about  this  way. 
It  was  just  after  sunset,  one  pleasant  evening.  I 
was  walking,  slowly  through  the  orchard,  on  my 
way  home,  when  I  was*  startled  by  the  report  of 
a  gun  from  a  little  hedge  near  me,  with  a  feeling 
of  terror,  for  the  sound  was  not  a  common  one  in 

81 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

this  peaceful  neighborhood,  I  quickened  my  pace, 
and  was  hurrying  on,  when  a  voice  calling  me 
made  me  pause.  In  an  instant  the  sportsman 
stood  before  me,  apologizing  for  the  fright  he 
had  caused  me,  and  pleading  the  unfrequented 
spot  as  an  excuse  for  his  having  chosen  it  for 
sporting.  He  introduced  himself  as  John  True- 
love,  from  Wisconsin,  and  I  in  'return  told  him 
my  name.  When  we  parted  at  the  gate,  it  was 
with  a  determination  on  his  part  that  it  should 
not  be  our  last  meeting,  and  a  strong  desire  on 
my  part  to  see  him  again. 


August  19,  1908. 

Somehow  it  happened  that  I  grew  very  fond  of 
taking  long  strolls  about  sunset ;  and  John  True- 
love,  by  some  unaccountable  magic,  was  always 
going  the  same  way  about  the  same  time.  John 
is  spending  his  vacation  at  Newport  Beach,  and 
every  day  he  comes  over  to  take  me  out  for  a 
drive,  or  a  wralk  in  the  evening.  We  walk,  and 
look  at  the  stars  and  sky,  and  into  each  other's 
faces.  We  are  too  happy  to  talk  much.  "Mae, 
I  do  think  I  love  him  better  than  aught  else  on 
earth.  We  seem  to  be  bound  together  by  the 
closest  ties  of  sympathy  and  mutual  love." 

82 


•.  t.     -  <• 

My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

Last  Saturday  morning-  as  I  was  busy  in  the 
kitchen,  for  it  was  baking  day  and  Hattie  was 
out  picking  berries,  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
front  door.  Supposing  it  to  be  some  peddler, 
I  just  slipped  off  my  apron,  rolled  down  my 
sleeves,  gave  my  hair  a  dash  down  with  my  hands, 
and  hurried  to  open  it.  Judge  of  my  surprise, 
when  there  stood  John  Truelove,  with  a  smile 
upon  his  pretty  little  face,  as  handsome  a  speci 
men  of  a  small  man  as  could  be  imagined !  I  was 
so  taken  aback  that  I  could  hardly  ask  him  in, 
and  could  not  forbear  a  sly  glance  at  a  long 
streak  of  flour  which  ornamented  the  side  of  my 
face  I  am  sure  he  thought  it  was  something 
else.  I  saw  him  looking  in  the  same  direction; 
but  he  smothered  any  horror  which  he  may  have 
inwardly  felt  at  this  betrayal  of  my  morning  oc 
cupation. 

I  suppose  you  will  call  me  silly,  if  I  confess 
that  my  face  was  redder  than  a  pulpit-cushion 
for  a  minute  or  two ;  but  his  manner  was  so  very 
impressive  and  overpowering  that  I  just  acted  as 
nice  about  it  as  I  could,  I  gave  him  a  cordial 
welcome,  and  he  staid  all  day.  I  had  made  a 
nice  custard,  and  set  it  to  cool ;  and  there  was  a 
plump  pair  of  chickens  in  the  oven ;  so  I  gave 

83 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

myself  no  uneasiness  about  the  table.  Ten  min 
utes  sufficed  me  in  which  to  don  my  dress,  curl 
my  hair,  and  primp  up.  When  I  returned  to 
the  parlor,  John  said,  he  never  saw  me  look  so 
pretty  before,"  and  "you  have  a  very  pretty  place 
here,  Annie,"  he  added. 

"My  heart  is  wedded  to  it,"  I  replied.  "It  is 
my  home,  and  I  love  it,  John." 

"Such  beauty  with  such  sense  is  seldom  com 
bined,"  he  answered,  with  such  a  pleasant  smile. 

I  stepped  into  the  kitchen  and  told  Hattie  to 
put  everything  that  was  good  in  the  house  on  the 
table — that  is  in  the  eatable  line,  because  I  had 
often  heard  that  the  way  to  a  man's  heart  was 
through  his  stomach.  John  is  a  good,  honorable 
man,  who  would  scorn  to  do  an  ignoble  action.  I 
am  indeed  happy,  very  happy.  For  further  in 
formation  you  must  await  the  day  when  the 
secrets  of  our  hearts  shall  be  revealed.  Good 
night,  with  many  kisses. 


PLATA  DEL  KEY, 

September  3,  1908. 

Be  composed,  dear  Mae,  when  I  tell  you  I  have 
gained  a  new  cousin  for  you.  The  wedding  is 
over,  and  we  are  here  on  our  bridal  tour,  I  was 

84 


My  First  Comin,  or  Myself. 

married  in  a  little  church  in  Santa.  Ana,  in  nay 
traveling-dress,  and  we  started  off  immediately 
after  the  ceremony,  to  spend  two  weeks  at  Playa 
del  Rey  Beach.  It  is  a  charming  place,  dread 
fully  aristocratic,  and  as  we  are  on  our  honey 
moon,  we  are  termed  "exclusives."  It  is  posi 
tively  delightful.  There  are  a  great  many  people 
here,  and  I  have  made  many  pleasant  acquain 
tances. 

Really  and  truely,  Mae,  I  am  a  wife ;  and  John 
is  noble  and  good.  How  strangely  happy  we 
are;  how  free  from  envy,  or  care.  How  swiftly 
and  sweetly  the  days  glide  by ;  it  is  like  a  dream, 
which  I  sometimes  fear  will  be  broken.  But  this 
is  not  a  dream,  but  real,  earnest,  true  life — the 
life  heaven  meant  we  should  lead. 

Last  evening  John  and  I  sat  watching  the 
moonlight  quiver  over  the  blue  ocean,  while  we 
talked  about  our  plans.  He  has  a  few  thousand 
dollars  to  put  into  my  little  ranch.  We  will 
make  that  money  go  as  far  as  it  will  towards 
making  a  handsome  place.  It  stands  upon  a 
rise  of  ground  which  commands  a  beautiful  view 
for  many  miles: — the  calmest,  fairest,  widest, 
loveliest,  most  magnificent  view.  We  will  al 
ways  have  something  beautiful  to  feed  our  souls 

85 


My  First  Cousin,  or  Myself. 

upon.  We  are  to  have  an  extensive  park  and 
flower-garden,  and  reserve  a  grove  of  pines,  be 
sides  the  eucalyptus  and  palms  that  are  there 
now  I  shall  have  my  house  furnished  with  no 
regard  to  fashion. 

Mae,  you  must  come  and  make  us  a  visit,  if  you 
are  not  married  by  this  time. 

"  'Tis  home  where  the  heart  is,  and  mine  is 
here  in  California." 

I  came  here  as  a  dreamer,  a  poet,  knowing  but 
little  of  the  nature  I  so  truly  loved,  and  in 
maiden  meditation,  fancy  free.  I  am  a  dreamer 
and  a  poet  still ;  but  I  have  one  by  my  side  who 
is  both  a  dreamer  and  a  worker.  I  have  learned 
to  love  the  freshness  and  beauty  of  the  outdoor 
world.  And  oh!  I  have  learned  a  deeper  love 
than  that.  Neither  one  of  us  knows  much  about 
working  a  ranch,  but  I  will  ride  the  horse  while 
John  holds  the  plow." 

P.  S. — Mae,  don't  come  to  visit  us  while  we 
are  away  on  our  honeymoon. 

P.  S. —  (the  last).     My  address  is, 
MRS.  JOHN  TRUELOVE, 
Pairview, 

Orange  Co., 

California. 
86 


A     000  051  750     8 


